













Class Jud. & 

Book » $ ' ^ 


GopightN 0 2* 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 






BURTON STREET FOLKS 



Burton Street 
Folks 


ANNA POTTER WRIGHT 

AUTHOR OF "ROSA’S QUEST” 



CHICAGO 

THE BIBLE INSTITUTE COLPORTAGE ASS’N 

826 LA SALLE AVENUE 


^3 


Copyright, 1913, by 

THE BIBLE INSTITUTE COLPORTAGE ASSOCIATION 
of Chicago 


©CI.A357450 


To 

Dr. Carleton Wright, 
My 

Brother 




CONTENTS 


Chapter 

I. The Theft - 

_ 

. 

. 

Page 

9 

II. 

The Trial - 

- 

- 

- 

13 

III. 

“The Sweetest Story” 

- 

- 

- 

18 

IV. 

“Too Tate” 

- 

- 

- 

28 

V. 

Billy's Dream 

- 

- 

- 

36 

VI. 

Silent Sufferers 

- 

- 

- 

39 

VII. 

The Interrupted Journey 

- 

- 

- 

43 

VIII. 

Mrs. Gray, Strategist 

> 

- 

- 

49 

IX. 

The Mission Launched 

- 

- 

- 

56 

X. 

The Mission Sailing 


> 

- 

64 

XI. 

The Upward Climb 

- 

- 


69 

XII. 

The Slippery Way 

- 

- 

- 

78 

XIII. 

The Hero's Part 

- 

- 

- 

83 

XIV. 

Life's Investment 

- 

- 

- 

9i 

XV. 

Decision - 

- 

- 

- 

IOI 

XVI. 

The Implacable Judge 

- 

- 

- 

107 

XVII. 

“Three Cheers for the Other End of the 
Sign” 

11 7 


7 




CHAPTER I 
The Theft 

A PARTICULARLY hard and disappointing day was 
drawing to a close. Billy Bruce had braved the 
storm since early morning, vainly endeavoring to 
find something to do that a few pennies at least might 
be earned. With a feeling of disappointment he now 
wended his way back to Burton street and up the long 
flights of stairs leading to the room he had left at day- 
break with an empty stomach but a hopeful heart. 

‘Tm so tired and so hungry!” he wailed, throwing 
his emaciated little body in a disconsolate heap upon 
his couch. “Ain’t you got nothing at all, mamma, for 
me to eat, not even a crust of bread? I didn’t have no 
luck today, and I tried hard. You and papa has took 
everything for booze and now there ain’t one cent left.” 

“What?” almost incoherently mumbled the mother, 
who was only a wreck of her former self. 

“I say ain’t you got nothing for me to eat? I’m ’most 
starved.” 

“What makes you drink, anyhow ?” presently he asked, 
going to her side, the clouds growing darker on his 
sullen little face, but there was no response. She had 
fallen into a heavy drunken sleep from which he knew 
by sad experience she would not waken for several 

9 


10 


Burton Street Folks 


hours. The room which gave them shelter was indeed 
a cheerless place for a lad of ten years. The battered 
furniture, which mutely spoke of other days, was covered 
with dust; the unpolished stove emitted no heat, for the 
fire long since had died out; the floor was unswept and 
the table was piled high with unwashed dishes. 

The mellow light of the waning winter day made a 
brave effort to peep through the smoky window to 
bear its message of hope, but it seemed only to irritate 
Billy. 

“I wish the sun would never, never shine again,” he 
said fiercely, shaking a little blue fist toward the win- 
dow, “ 'cause — 'cause — ” “Yes,” he added meditatively, 
as though more convinced than ever of the sun's un- 
pardonable audacity, “I wish it wouldn't, for it has no 
business to,” and then this child, young in years but 
old in sorrow, began trying to devise some plan whereby 
he might relieve the cruel pangs of hunger, looking the 
while through the dingy window at th.e still more dingy 
buildings. The last time he was on trial for stealing 
bread, he was warned that another offense would bring 
down upon him severe punishment. Hence it was ex- 
pedient that this campaign be conducted with the utmost 
caution. Being behind prison bars was worse than his 
present miserable condition in one respect only, for there 
he could not have his much prized liberty. All things 
considered, he preferred that even to the certainty of 
being provided daily with something to eat. 

It was a sad, calloused, hungry and daring boy who 
started forth in the gathering darkness. He was weak 
and faint, and but for the desired end in view, could 
scarcely have endured the keen, cutting wind following 
in the wake of the receding storm. Pausing for a 
moment, he looked back at the building which sheltered 
his mother, but the feeling of irresolution soon gave 
way to one of firm determination. 


The Theft 


11 


He walked rapidly for several blocks toward a bakery 
where the daring deed was to be performed, but to reach 
it he had to pass O’Conner’s saloon. Listening to the 
voices within, he recognized among them his father’s. 

He was inclined to rush in and coax his father 
home, but knowing that the attempt probably would be 
futile, and shrinking from O’Conner’s coarse jests, in 
desperation he started on for the bakery. Reaching it 
at last, for some time he looked through the window 
at the rows of delicious bread, meat, cakes and pies, then 
spying, coming around the corner, one of the ever-pres- 
ent policemen, he trudged on. His courage was almost 
failing, but the thought of going back to the cheerless 
home while he was so very, very hungry was unendur- 
able. 

The policeman, he observed, had disappeared, a num- 
ber of people were entering the bakery at once, so now 
was the opportunity. He would slip quietly in behind 
them, snatch a loaf of bread from the window, and es- 
cape before there was any probability of being detected. 
The plan was well-formed and worked perfectly. He 
was darting through the doorway, his mouth already 
watering in anticipation of the coming feast, when, with- 
out warning, he found himself face to face with the 
policeman. 

“Not so fast,” said he. “I am onto my job with you 
street kiddies and hid near by to be handy. Oh, no, 
now, don’t struggle to get away, for it won’t do you 
any good. You’d better take a short walk with me to 
a nice big brick building I know of, eh? Gee whiz! 
Crying ? Cut it out ! Anyone brave enough to slip into 
a bakery and steal a loaf of bread ought not to cry; it 
doesn’t correspond.” 

"I’ll bet you’d steal a loaf of bread, and cry too, if 
you was as awful hungry as I am,” sobbed the boy. “I 


12 


Burton Street Folks 


ain’t had nothing to eat today, and ’most nothing yes- 
terday and the day before.” 

“Oh, yes, I know by heart the story you fellows always 
tell, come ’long now without any fuss about it.” 

Seeing that his efforts were futile, the boy submitted 
in silence. Later on Billy stretched his tired body out 
on the bench in his cell, but for some time sleep refused 
to come. 

Presently, however, having planned the many terrible 
things he would do to all saloon-keepers in general and 
to O’Conner in particular, if only a man, he grew quiet 
and knew nothing more till morning. 



CHAPTER II 
The Trial 

G UILTY, or not guilty?” was the question put to 
Billy the next morning in a solemnly sonorous 
voice. 

“Guilty,” he replied with downcast head, trying at 
the same time to push the toe of his disreputable shoe 
through the floor. 

The trial was short, and the fateful moment had ar- 
rived when the sentence was to be pronounced. 

There was a stir in the rear of the room, and a woman 
of goodly proportions, who a few moments before had 
slipped quietly in, arose to her feet. 

“I beg your pardon, Jedge, for interuptin’,” she 
began, “but I’ve got somethin’ to say.” 

“But, madam, I can permit no such irregularity. We 
shall proceed without further interruption.” 

“I just must tell about that child, for it may make a 
difference in the sentence.” 

“Be most hasty then.” 

“Sure, your honor, for your time’s precious and so’s 
mine. I’ve only very lately become a Christian, and 
there ain’t no end to the work I want to do before I 
die.” 

“Madam ! Make your story about this boy as brief as 
13 



14 


Burton Street Folks 


possible. Do you understand? This is a very unusual 
proceeding, indeed.” 

“I understand, Jedge. 

“Well, as I was about to say, I’ve known Billy for — 
it’s goin’ on five years, and he was mighty little and 
pinched-up-like for not havin’ enough to eat. 

“I live at 1 15 Burton street, and Billy and his folks 
moved in. He was then — well, let me see; five from 
ten leaves five — so he was about five, and a prettier 
baby you never see, but frail — ” 

“I care nothing for details.” 

“For what?” 

“Oh, go on and get through. If you were not a 
woman, I would have you immediately ejected from the 
courtroom.” 

“Well, then that boy’s pa is a college man, yes, sir, 
he is. He told Mike Flannigan all about it, and Mike 
told his wife, and she told Mis’ Browning what’s dead 
now, and she told me, so you see it come pretty straight- 
like.” 

“Very, indeed!” ironically and with more than neces- 
sary emphasis. 

“Well, Mr. Bruce—” 

“Who?” 

“Mr. Bruce. Don’t I talk loud enough?” going a 
few steps nearer and raising her voice. “Mr. Bruce when 
he got out of college made lots of money, but com- 
menced drinkin’, and got to goin’ to the bad faster and 
faster. He married a mighty pretty little society girl 
that didn’t know nothin’ about work, or how to do any- 
thing more’n look pretty. When their money was all 
gone and he lost his job, they both got discouraged- 
like, and she took to drinkin’ too more’n was fashionable. 
They left their nice home for cheap rooms, then soon had 
to get out, and kept a-gittin’ till they got where they 
be now on Burton street. 


The Trial 


15 


“Mis’ Bruce comes from grand folks he says, but 
when she married him, they wouldn’t have nothin’ more 
to do with her, ’cause he was a little too gay to suit ’em.” 

“What is Mrs. Bruce’s first name?” asked the judge 
with so much interest that a look of surprise crossed 
the faces of all present. 

“Marjorie.” 

“Marjorie!” then recollecting himself, immediately 
retreated behind his usual dignity. 

“You must like that name.” 

“Never mind whether I like it or not, but proceed. 
Is this their only child?” 

“Yes, and anyone can tell by lookin’ at him he has 
good blood in him, too. 

“One time his pa knocked him down stairs, for Billy 
was cryin’ for somethin’ to eat. Mr. Bruce sobered up 
then in a hurry, and paced the hall the whole night long, 
moanin’ and carryin’ on and pleadin’ like somebody was 
with him to break the cruel chains that was holdin’ him 
down. He works when he ain’t drunk, but spends it 
mostly at the saloon, and I believe the whole family 
would be starved and froze if it wasn’t for Billy. He 
does anything he can get to do, then gives his pa or 
ma the money. After doin’ all that, he has come to 
me many a time for somethin’ to eat, and I wouldn’t 
give him nothin’, no, sir, I wouldn’t. You see, Jedge, 
what kind of a woman I was before the Lord saved me — 
a meaner one never lived. I guess if He can save me, 
He can you, too.” 

At this a little laugh floated over the room ; not really 
a coarse laugh, for something about the woman’s in- 
tense earnestness prevented that. The eminent Judge 
Sommerville, present on this particular morning only 
that he might study at close range the class of criminals 
arraigned before a police court, • was famed for his 
austerity, hence the amusement on the part of the in- 
terested auditors. 


16 


Burton Street Folks 


The judge with agitated face leaned forward and 
was about to speak, when the woman continued: 

“And now for a bit of my personal history as it sort 
of fits in here, leadin’ up to the point.” 

“That’s the way I treated Billy, then after my man 
died, Grandpa Gray, my father-in-law, lived with me — 
Mis’ Gray, that’s my name if you want to know — and I 
scolded the poor old man more’n you can think of. 
Then Mis’ Browning, she that lived across the hall from 
me, died, and I took her Rosa to keep a spell, and I 
abused that child somethin’ awful. I left ’em for a 
couple of days and they run off, no wonder, to find the 
way to the beautiful land where Rosa’s ma went. And 
they found it too, Jedge, for Jesus Christ is the way. 

“Well, grandpa is dead now, and Dr. Dale, an awful 
rich man, has took Rosa. Esther Fairfax, whose pa is 
the big preacher, you know, and who helped Rosa and 
me and grandpa to become Christians, come after me to 
see grandpa before he died, for he was at her house. 
And the very last thing I done before goin’ was to 
throw a piece of coal at Billy — I’m awfully sorry, Billy 
boy — then while I was away I found Jesus. When I 
come back last night Billy was gone, but, say, Jedge,” 
and her voice trembled, “I found his ma drunk and 
’most froze.” 

“Is the woman going to die, Mrs. Gray?” asked the 
judge in a subdued but excited voice. 

“I think not, but you seem wonderful int’rested, even 
though you didn’t want me to tell my story.” 

“My attitude in the matter is of no consequence to 
you; go on.” 

“Cornin’ down to business then, what about that there 
poor little fellow? If you must send anybody up, send 
me, for he ain’t never had no chance yet, and let him 
go. He’ll be good now, I know, but anyhow it wasn’t 
real stealin’, for he was starvin’.” 


The Trial 


17 


For some time the judge studied frightened, sur- 
prised, trembling Billy without a word, his face flush- 
ing and paling by turns, as was that also of the youth- 
ful prisoner. 

Apparently satisfied, at last he spoke with delibera- 
tion, seemingly more to himself than to the anxious in- 
tercessor: “There can be no mistake.” And then to 
Mrs. Gray: “The prisoner is acquitted; take him back 
to his mother without delay.” 

“You say you live at 115 Burton street?” 

“Yes, your honor.” 

“And that Mar — , or I should say, the Bruces live 
there too?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“You are sure your story is true?” 

“Of course I am.” 

“And that her name really is Marjorie?” 

“Yes, and quite a high soundin’ name for Burton 
street, ain’t it? — Marjorie Bruce.” 

“Is she well?” 

“Generally speakin’. And her eyes for all the world 
look like yours.” 

“Do they?” but his aforesaid eyes saw nothing about 
him. They evidently were riveted upon scenes of other 
years. 



CHAPTER III 
“The Sweetest Story” 

B ILLY, promise me you won’t be afraid of me no 
more,” gasped Mrs. Gray between breaths, as she 
was climbing the steep, narrow stairs leading to her 
rooms. “You see I’m a Christian now, and that makes 
a heap of difference.” 

“I don’t just know what bein’ a Christian is,” replied 
Billy, as they entered her room, “but something’s sure 
happened. I don’t feel one bit afraid of you, but what 
ever made you do it ? Why, it ain’t only a few days 
ago that you told on me to the cop for tryin to steal 
some fruit, and here today you said you’d take my place 
if the judge would just let me go. Is that bein’ a 
Christian ?” 

“Billy, I have an awful lot to tell you — the sweetest 
story you ever heard, too, but before I begin I must 
see if your ma wants anything.” 

Following Mrs. Gray into the room, he was speechless 
with amazement. The floor and windows were cleaned, 
the furniture dusted, the stove brightly polished and a 
fire cheerily burning. Mrs. Bruce, reclining upon a 
cot, was neatly clad in a soft red dress, but was too 
weak to talk. Tears gathered in her eyes, as she reached 
out a thin white hand for her boy. 

18 


'‘The Sweetest Story” 19 

“Gee! What’s up?” he whispered, but for reply she 
pointed toward Mrs. Gray. 

“I’m mighty glad to see you so pert, Mis’ Bruce,” 
said Mrs. Gray, with a smile. “It’s best for you to keep 
quiet now, so if you don’t want nothin’, I’m goin’ to 
take Billy home with me. Here, let me plump your pil- 
low up a bit and smooth out this blanket. If you’re well 
enough all three of you is cornin’ to my house for sup- 
per tonight. Now just turn over — there, that’s right — 
and go to sleep, and when you wake up you’ll feel 
better. Come on now, Billy boy, for I’m achin’ to talk.” 

“Did you do that room?” asked Billy, seating himself 
by her stove. 

“I’ll explain after a while, honey.” 

“Is that bein’ a Christian,” he persisted, “to look after 
my ma that way?” 

“Sure, and I wouldn’t a-done it before I was a Chris- 
tian. But you go to my other room and you’ll find 
some things to put on. Land sakes, child, the sole is 
clean off of that there shoe, and your coat ain’t a bit 
better’n paper. I wonder you ain’t froze. Here’s some 
warm water in this here pail, and here’s some soap and 
a towel. Now you scrub good, and put them clothes on 
you’ll find in there, and I’ll get us somethin’ to eat.” 

When Billy returned he was substantially clad from 
head to toe. 

“Gee! Where did you get ’em, Mis’ Gray, and the 
things for ma? I thought you was poor. Is this bein’ 
a Christian?” 

“I am poor, and I’ll explain later. I know you must 
be mighty hungry, but you look fine in them clothes, I 
declare. 

“Pitch right in now,” as they sat down to the table, 
“and don’t be backward one bit. Here, let me help 
you to some ham and eggs, and put some gravy on your 
biscuit while it’s good and hot. And here’s some pretty 


20 


Burton Street Folks 


red jelly I thought mebbe you’d like. Oh, take more’n 
that, that ain’t half enough. 

“Well, Billy, I don’t know where to begin, honest I 
don’t, there’s that much to tell, but in the first place, 
I’m awful sorry I’ve been so mean to you.” 

“That’s all right; you bet I don’t care now,” he re- 
plied* while at the same time an amazingly large piece 
of ham was disappearing. 

“Rosa, that sweet lamb I had for a spell, you know 
her—” 

“Yep.” 

“Well, she lives in one of them fine up-town houses 
now, and Dr. Dale, her new pa, took me all through it, 
— here, take another biscuit — and it’s prettier’n anything 
I ever heard of. But that little lamb, she taught him 
how to love God, and now he’s goin’ to use his money 
helpin’ the poor. He gave me fifty dollars — fifty dol- 
lars I say! — to use for other folks, so you see that’s 
how I got the things. And he’s goin’ to give me money 
every month, if I spend it to suit him.” 

“Is that bein’ a Christian — to make other folks 
happy ?” 

“No, just makin’ other folks happy ain’t bein’ a 
Christian, but if you are one, it naturally follows you’ll 
make other folks happy — the ham and eggs is right 
there handy, help yourself — you ought to be a Christian, 
Billy.” 

“But I don’t know how. There ain’t nobody to give 
me fifty dollars for bein’ one.” 

“No, no, child, of course not. But you don’t have to 
have money. All you need is Jesus. Did you ever hear 
about Him?” 

“I’ve heard O’Conner say it when he was mad.” 

“Billy, the shame of it! Well, I’ll have to go and 
see O’Conner.” 

“What,” after an interval of silence, “you ain’t 


The Sweetest Story” 


21 


through, are you? Do make out your dinner,” as Billy 
leaned back in his chair with a sigh of satisfaction. 
“Can’t you eat one more biscuit with jelly on it?” 

“No, I’m clear full, I say, but tell me about Jesus. 
Then I’ll know what bein’ a Christian means ?” 

“I hope so. We’ll just set here by the table; it’s real 
cozy-like for talkin’. I love the story. Esther Fair- 
fax told me, and so did her pa, and he give me a Bible 
all marked, the particular verses, you know, so as I 
could learn it quick. 

“Well, as I was beginnin’, it happened a long time 
ago, the sweetest thing this poor old world ever saw. 
One night, in the little country of Judea away off across 
the ocean, some shepherds was watchin’ their flocks, 
when all at once an angel come right down from heaven, 
but the shepherds was afraid of him. He said to them — 
well, let me read it so as to get it just right — 

“‘Fear not; for, behold, I bring you good tidings of 
great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is 
born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is 
Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; 
ye shall find the Babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, 
lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the 

angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, 

and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth 
peace, good will toward men.’ 

“Oh, Billy, wouldn’t you like to have been there? I 
can just imagine how them shepherds looked standin’ 
there by their flocks, with the glory of the angels shinin’ 

right in their faces, and listenin’ to the music almost 

without breathin’. Then, as the angels begun floatin’ 
up a little higher and a little higher, and the music get- 
tin’ fainter and fainter, how they’d try to catch the 
very last look and sound, till finally they’d just be gazin’ 
up into the starlit sky itself, wishin’ they could see 
heaven’s gates open when the angels swept through. 


22 


Burton Street Folks 


“Well, after that was all over, the shepherds went 
into Bethlehem, the town, to worship that blessed Baby. 
But, Billy, where do you suppose they found Him?” 

“In a swell house like where Rosa lives, I ’spect.” 

“No, sir; oh, think of it! there weren’t no room 
for them at the hotel, so this Baby was born in a 
manger. No room for Him ! and there ain’t never been 
over much room for Him in the world since, neither. 

“Well, there was a wicked king heard about the Holy 
Child Jesus, and he had all the boy babies two years 
old and under killed.” 

“Did they get Him?” 

“No, for an angel had warned Joseph to take his 
young wife Mary and the Child into another country. 

“After while they moved to a town called Nazareth, 
and there they lived till Jesus was a man. 

“Accordin’ to the good Book, He lived at home till 
He was about thirty years old, workin’ at the carpen- 
ter’s trade.” 

“Like Mike Flannigan works? He’s a carpenter.” 

“Yes, somethin’ like it, I s’pose. 

“Well, Billy, I can’t tell you half that was crowded 
into the next three years till He went back to heaven, 
and if I could it would take more’n all day. 

“But He chose twelve men to go with Him, disciples 
I believe they called ’em, and they traveled all over 
everywhere tellin’ folks how to be saved, and doin’ good. 
If anybody was sick all they had to do was to go to 
Jesus, and He’d lay His hands on ’em, or mebbe speak 
a word, and they’d get well immediately. 

“Oh, He done so much, it can never be told. But 
don’t you think lots of folks didn’t like Him, but prin- 
cipally the men what thought they was smart and know’d 
it all. 

“And Jesus was poorer than you and me, for He 
didn’t have no place at all He could call His own to 


“The Sweetest Story” 


23 


lay down His tired, achin’ head. But there was one 
family that loved Him very much. It was Mary and 
Martha and their brother Lazarus. Well, Lazarus got 
sick and they sent for Jesus, but He didn’t get there 
till after he was dead and buried.” 

“Oh, wasn’t that too bad, when He might have saved 
him?” 

“You wait, honey, and you’ll see. Mary and Martha 
was feelin’ awful when finally Jesus did come, but He 
just asked ’em where they had laid him. They went to 
the grave, a hole in the side of a hill, or somethin’ like 
that, with a stone over it. Lots of folks went along, 
and Jesus told some of them to roll the stone away. Oh, 
His dear heart was breakin’, and for more reasons’n one, 
and He cried. After the stone was away, He prayed 
and said real loud: ‘Lazarus, come forth!’ And, Billy, 
he did, and was exactly as much alive as you or me this 
minute. But think of it; it made them smart men mad, 
for they said the people would all follow Jesus instead 
of them, and that would hurt ’em like. So from that 
time on they tried to find some fault in Him, so as 
they could have Him killed.” 

“Killed !” 

“Yes, killed, but you wait. They couldn’t find no 
fault in Him — ” 

“Well, I think not.” 

“So they had to try somethin’ else. One of these 
disciples wasn’t what he pretended to be, and if you’ll 
believe it, he promised for only a little money to betray 
Jesus into their hands.” 

“Gee, the mean man! That’s meaner’n O’Conner. 

“Yes, but you’ll see how it come out. Jesus kept 
tellin’ His disciples that He must die, but they didn’t 
believe it. They all went to the city of Jerusalem to 
one of them big feasts, and Jesus took His disciples 
to an upstairs room where they had supper. Not because 


24 


Burton Street Folks 


they was hungry, but it was somethin’ He wanted them 
to do after He was gone, so as they would think about 
Him, and this man that promised to betray Him, — Judas, 
I believe, was his name, left before they was through. 
Jesus knew what was goin’ to happen, so the next few 
hours He spent in talkin’ and prayin’ so lovin’-like 
with His disciples, and He told ’em that some day He 
would come back. 

“Mebbe it was about midnight when they all went to 
a garden where Jesus wanted to pray, and He felt so 
awful — worse’n anybody ever did before or since — that 
He sweat drops of blood, but, Billy, an angel come ag’in, 
and I’m glad. It was dark, and pretty soon some 
soldiers marched in, and Judas went up to Jesus and 
kissed Him, so as they’d know who He was, and they 
took Him off.” 

“What did the disciples let ’em for? Oh, if I only 
had been there!” 

“They was scared and was cowards, Billy. Jesus 
had what they called a trial, but it wasn’t no honest 
trial at all.” 

“Did He have to go before a judge?” 

“A sort of one I s’pose you might call him.” 

“And there wasn’t nobody to help Him like you did 
me?” 

“No, Billy, not one.” 

“Not one of His disciples or the folks He cured?” 

“No, not even one.” 

“But the judge didn’t give Him no sentence nor 
nothing, did he?” 

“I can hardly tell you, for it is so sad. The jedge 
didn’t want to have nothin’ to do with Him, so he sent 
Him to another jedge, and this one sent Him back, and 
all the time the crowds of people got madder and mad- 
der, sayin’, ‘Crucify Him !’ ” 

“What is ‘crucify’?” 


“The Sweetest Story’’ 


25 


‘Til tell you in a minute. But the jedge said he 
couldn’t find nothin’ wrong in Him, and wanted to let 
Him go. They hollered louder’n ever then to have Him 
crucified. Well, the jedge was sure he had had a real 
bright thought, and he’d fix ’em by askin’ which he 
should release, Jesus or Barabbas, a dreadful wicked man 
they had shut up, and they was all afraid of him. He 
didn’t think of their askin’ for Barabbas, but they did.” 

“What, that bad man instead of Jesus that had helped 
’em so?” 

“Yes, Billy, but as I told you before, there has never 
been much room in this poor old lost world for God’s 
Son that came to save it. 

“Then the jedge let ’em have Him, and they dressed 
Him up like a king, and mocked Him, and spit on Him 
and — ” 

“Say, how could they?” 

“Now calm yourself, for you must know it all, and 
the worst is to come. They put a crown of thorns 
on that tender brow, and whipped His poor back till 
it was all cut open.” 

“Oh, I don’t want to hear any more.” 

“But you must, for it was for you ” 

“For me?” 

“Yes, I’ll explain later. Then they led Him out and 
put a heavy cross — just like my fingers looks now — on 
His bleedin’ back, but He couldn’t carry it; it was too 
heavy for Him. When they got out to the hill, they 
laid the cross down and stretched His precious body upon 
it, nailin’ fast them dear hands that had give the healin’ 
touch to so many, and nailin’ the feet fast too that had 
traveled so many weary miles to help others. 

“Then they put the cross in a hole in the ground, 
just lettin’ Him hang there till it killed Him.” 

“They didn’t really kill Him, did they?” 

“Yes, but wait, for, glory! He rose ag’in. That’s 


26 


Burton Street Folks 


goin’ ahead a little though, for I can’t bear to see you 
feel so. 

“After He was dead, there was a rich man come and 
got His body, and wrapped it in linen and laid it in a 
new tomb. Then some of them smart men that was to 
blame for it all remembered that Jesus said He would 
rise again the third day, so they put a guard ’round the 
grave. They said the disciples might come and steal 
the body and make folks believe He had risen. Early 
on Sunday mornin’ a woman named Mary Magdalene 
come to the grave, and, Billy, the stone was rolled away 
and the body gone. After while she went ag’in and 
seen two angels. They asked her what was the matter, 
and she said they had taken away her Lord, and she 
didn’t know where they had laid Him. Then she turned 
around and seen a man she thought was the gardener, 
and she asked him what he knew about it. He said, 
‘Mary,’ oh so sweet and tender, different from what 
anybody else could say it, and then she knew it was 
Jesus, yes, Jesus, Billy, for He had risen from the dead! 
He stayed on earth forty days, then after that He went 
to heaven. And, oh, how the angels must have sung 
when He got back home ag’in! 

“Now there’s a verse that tells why Jesus done all 
this : 

“ 'For Christ also hath once suffered for sins, the 
just for the unjust, that He might bring us to God, 
being put to death in the flesh, but quickened by the 
Spirit/ 

“That’s it, Billy. We’re all so wicked that He had to 
die for us, so as we could be saved.” 

“Did He come to take our place, just like you come 
to take my place this morning?” 

“Yes, honey, only what I done was nothin’. Do you 
love Him now?” 

“Love Him?— oh, Mis’ Gray!” 


The Sweetest Story’ 


27 


“Do you believe on Him?” 

“Yes, how could I help it?” 

“Then you’re a Christian, for that is all there is to it. 
Listen to this: 

“ 'Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be 
saved.’ That is what it means to be a Christian — just 
believin’ on Him. I think you understand now.” 

“I wish I could do somethin’ for Him, Mis’ Gray, to 
let Him know I thank Him for takin’ my place.” 

“You can. As soon as I find a room. Dr. Dale is goin’ 
to open up a mission, and he and Preacher Fairfax is 
goin’ to do the preachin’ when they can, and when they 
can’t will send somebody else. Yes, you can help by 
askin’ people to go, and then, for instance, Billy, if you 
sweep the stairs real clean, corners and all, ’cause you 
know He’s lookin’, it’s workin’ for Him as truly as 
preachin’ is. 

“And that reminds me, I was doin’ for your ma ’most 
all night, then ag’in this mornin’, so I didn’t have no 
time to clean the stairs myself. If you’ll do it, and do 
it good, I’ll give you ten cents. But first you must run 
in and see how your ma’s feelin’, and I’ll declare! I 
must get these here dishes washed up right away.” 



CHAPTER IV 
‘‘Too Late!” 

M RS. Gray was swiftly walking about her room, 
making preparations for supper. After every- 
thing was done to her satisfaction, she donned her 
wraps and called to Billy that she was going to the 
flower stand near O’Conner’s saloon. 

“Well,” she thought as she started, “I’m in time I 
guess.” 

“Shall I not deliver the goods, madam?” asked the 
grocerman after Mrs. Gray had made several purchases. 
“No, thank you, sir; I can look after them myself.” 
Out of breath as usual from rapid walking, and re- 
lieving her arms of her numerous packages, she sat 
down with a sigh where she could see all passers-by. 
Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes had rolled around, then 
with a look of relief she hastened to meet Mr. Bruce. 

“I’m real glad to see you, and it’s lucky-like too. I’ve 
got ’most more’n I can carry, and since we’re goin’ the 
same way, I s’pose you won’t mind givin’ me a lift.” 

“I’d be glad to help you certainly, Mrs. Gray, but un- 
fortunately have a little matter of business to attend 
to before going home.” 

“Well, since you all are cornin’ to my house for sup- 


28 


“Too Late” 29 

per, I’ll just go with you, if you don’t object. I can’t 
do nothin’ more till you get there anyway.” 

“I’ll have your packages delivered. You go on, then 
I’ll come in a few minutes.” 

“No, thank you, you are awful kind indeed, but it’d 
cost money to do that, and that wouldn’t pay. I guess 
I can make out to get ’em home myself,” she added 
adroitly, “if you can’t help me.” 

“Oh, well,” impatiently, “come on. I’ll defer my en- 
gagement.” 

“Thank you, thank you ; you always was a gentleman.” 

While passing O’Conner’s the odor of the liquor made 
him turn pale, he hesitated and was about to enter, when 
Mrs. Gray, apparently by accident, dropped her pack- 
age of apples, scattering the contents over the walk. 
While gathering them up for her, the last atom of his 
manhood had an opportunity to assert itself, and that 
together with Mrs. Gray’s casual remarks about Billy 
and his “little sick ma” tided him safely over the crisis. 

“Hello there, Bruce,” called O’Conner, who had been 
angrily watching the scene, “come in a minute.” 

“No, not this evening; I haven’t time.” 

“O’Conner,” almost shouted Mrs. Gray, stamping her 
foot emphatically, “ain’t you satisfied just to let men 
walk into your death-trap when they want to, without 
you standin’ at the door to bait ’em?” 

“ ’Pon my word, old hag, who are you ?” gasped the 
decidedly astonished saloon-keeper. 

“Who am I? You’ll find out, sir, just as soon as I 
start up my mission as close to your place of destruction 
as I can get a room.” 

“One of these detestable mission ranters! You’ll not 
get a room in this neighborhood, on your life, if I have 
to rent every empty one myself. 

“But say, Bruce, I think I’d let my rights as a free 


30 


Burton Street Folks 


man be imposed upon by such an old — ,” but the assailed 
pair had turned the corner and did not hear the vile 
oaths hurled after them. 

In a few minutes more Mr. Bruce was kissing the wife 
and child whom he ardently loved, and vowing that 
henceforth for their sakes his life would be better. But 
his heart failed him as he remembered the many times 
the vow had been taken before, only to be broken in a 
few short hours. 

“But, Marjorie, laddie, what is it?” he asked, looking 
from one to the other almost dreamily, as he began to 
take in the transformation of the room and of their 
personal appearance. “Tell me about it.” 

Marjorie for answer only sobbed, but Billy’s irre- 
pressible spirits were bubbling over. 

“Dad, look, my coat and trousers have got pockets in 
’em, more’n I ever had before in all my life. 

“Mis’ Gray did it, and I ain’t afraid of her, or nothing 
any more. She gave me every single bit I could eat 
at noon, and, gee, that was a lot, for I was ’most starved 
last night, and got shut up again for stealin’ bread. 
Didn’t you miss me none?” 

“No, Billy, I did not miss you, for I was too drunk. 
Oh, the brute that I am! — no longer a free man but a 
slave to the drink compounded in hell!” 

“And, dad, Mis’ Gray come and wanted the judge to 
let her take my place. Ain’t she good? Then he let 
us both go.” 

“Did she say why she did that and all the rest?” 

“Yes, it’s because she’s a Christian.” 

Billy talked on of the wonderful events of the day, 
dwelling longest in his innocent-ignorant way on the 
story of Jesus. His father, nervously caressing the eager 
little speaker, listened with intensest interest, till at last 
all about him was growing dark and unsteady, every 


“Too Late” 31 

nerve in his body tingling. Oh, the burning thirst ! He 
was on fire, he could not endure it! 

Just at this moment Mrs. Gray entered the room, and 
in an instant comprehended Mr. Bruce’s condition. Lay- 
ing her hand upon his shoulder to arouse him, she 
cheerily said: 

“Come to supper now, everything is ready. This cold 
weather gives a body a mighty good appetite.” But 
while so saying her heart was uttering the prayer: “O 
God, in Jesus’ name, let this strong coffee help to satisfy 
the awful thirst that’s burnin’ him up.” 

Two cups full of the steaming beverage were greedily 
swallowed, and then Mr. Bruce was himself for a 
while. 

The well-cooked meal was enjoyed by all, if not served 
after the most approved fashion. The coarse white 
linen was spotlessly clean, and the carnations Mrs. Gray 
knew preached their silent sermon as Mrs. Bruce with 
tear-dimmed eyes cast many loving glances in their 
direction. 

“Before coverin’ up the table I’ll just take out the 
flowers so as we can smell ’em, then we can have a little 
visit before you leave. Billy and I had a fine time at 
noon, didn’t we?” 

“You bet we did.” 

General topics were discussed at length, Mrs. Gray 
being at an utter loss to know how to reach her strange 
guests. Mr. Bruce’s ghastly expression and shaking 
form filled her with apprehension. Had she been wise 
after all in keeping him from his evening drink? Was 
he going to be able to bear it? He had lived on stimu- 
lants so long that all true vitality seemed to have left 
him. Ought she to talk to him of Jesus who came to 
break Satan’s power? Yes, she would, regardless of 
consequences, for this might be her only opportunity. 


32 


Burton Street Folks 


Soon at this rate he would be occupying a drunkard’s 
grave. His mind was momentarily out of poise she 
knew, but then God had the power to send the message 
through the mist to his darkened soul. 

While wondering how to begin, and pouring for Mr. 
Bruce another cup of coffee, she was relieved by his say- 
ing, although with much agitation: 

“Mrs. Gray, I cannot find words with which to ex- 
press to you my gratitude for saving my poor starving 
boy this morning, and for the transformation you have 
wrought in our miserable rooms. I am a wretch to 
allow my family to live in such squalor and to force my 
one child to steal bread. Hell will be too good a place 
for me, yes, too good. No, do not interrupt me, Mrs. 
Gray; what I say is true, and I am already more in 
hell than on God’s lovely earth. I am wholly to blame,” 
he continued more quietly, “for the downfall of my wife 
and myself. You know something of our history. 
Mrs. Bruce’s father, and rightly so, objected to our mar- 
riage, for I was a wild young man. Notwithstanding 
his wishes we were married as soon as Marjorie became 
of age, and he has never spoken to us since, only to 
order us forever from his presence. At the time I held 
a good position in what is now the largest department 
store in the city, but I neglected my duties till I was 
discharged. Disappointment followed disappointment in 
quick succession after that, so in order to drown our 
sorrow and bitterness, we indulged more and more in 
the fateful cup. Now we are bound by chains which I 
fear cannot be broken. I should like to make one more 
attempt, then if that fails — well, suicide will end it all 
anyhow.” 

“Oh, Mr. Bruce, don’t say that; you ain’t fit to die, 
and suicide won’t end it all. You’ll find yourself in 
more trouble ’n ever you’ve had yet, if you rush off into. 
God’s presence without believin’ on His Son.” 


“Too Late” 


33 


“How do I know,” he asked almost peevishly, “that 
God has a Son?” 

“What? How do you know that you have a son?” 

“Because I see him and know him.” 

“Well, I ain’t seen Jesus yet, but I’ve tested His 
power. Mr. Bruce, you know what kind of a woman I 
once was. Did you ever see a meaner or crosser one? 
Now speak up, don’t be afraid.” 

“I believe you were formerly possessed of rather an 
invective tongue.” 

“You’re tryin’ to smooth it over for me. I don’t want 
you to, and don’t know anyhow what that big college 
word means. I was just too downright cross and ugly 
to live, and there’s no gettin’ around it, till I got 
acquainted with God’s blessed Son you’re doubtin’.” 

“You need not be so hard on yourself.” 

“Hard on myself! Well, I ain’t half as hard as I’d 
ought to be, but now you look here, you be honest. It 
was learnin’ about Jesus that has made this great change 
in me. If there ain’t no Jesus, how do you account 
for it?” 

“I do not know,” rising and restlessly pacing the floor, 
casting now and then furtive glances toward the ceiling. 

“I guess not.” 

“Did Billy tell you about that rich Dr. Dale that has 
took Rosa Browning?” 

“Yes.” 

“Now it is the love of Jesus that made that there 
rich man take the child, bless’er, and made him give 
the money I spent for Billy’s clothes and the other 
things. If there ain’t no Jesus, how do you account 
for that?” 

“I do not know. I once in a general way believed 
in Jesus, but when in college some of the learned 
professors said that perhaps some portions of the Bible 
are not authentic. Not knowing myself how to separate 


34 


Burton Street Folks 


the authentic from the unauthentic, I gave up the whole 
thing.” 

“You don’t say! Well, I guess them professors must 
be grandsons of them other smart men that a long time 
ago tried to find fault in Jesus and delivered Him up 
to be crucified. 

“Would you be glad to know that there really is a 
Jesus?” 

“Well, I don’t know, or that is to say — ” 

“You don’t know? Would you like to quit drinkin’ 
and be a man once more and make your wife happy and 
edicate your boy ? Only keep him away from them smart 
men you just mentioned.” 

“Indeed I would, but Satan has me, has me fast, I 
say. It’s too late, too late, I’m going over the preci- 
pice now!” and the poor wretch shook from head to 
foot. 

“Have you ever honestly tried?” 

“Tried, yes, a thousand times with all my might, but 
with each effort would come the attendant failure and 
a tightening of the cruel chains which hold me. No 
one not possessed of the appetite can appreciate even in 
the slightest degree its awful and irresistible power. 
Before falling quite to my present position and being 
deserted by my former friends (all but one), I yearned, 
oh, how I yearned for a word of help and sympathy! 
Yes, sympathy was what I wanted, but received curses 
instead. They had no patience with me. Really, I can- 
not censure them much, but I did feel that especially 
those with whom in prosperous times I drank moderately, 
ought not to be quite so severe. They had the moral 
strength with which to conquer the appetite when they 
found it making headway, and I did not; that was the 
difference.” 

“Yes, but can’t you set down and ca’m yourself, Mr. 
Bruce? It’s just like you all was in boats driftin’ down 


Too Late” 


35 


stream and gettin’ caught in the rapids. They had the 
strength to pull back and you didn’t, and then stood and 
scolded you for bein’ so weak, instead of throwin’ out 
the lifeline for you to catch to. That’s like the world, 
but it ain’t like Jesus. Have you any reason now to 
think as you’re goin’ over the falls that you’ve got 
strength to pull clear back to safety?” 

“No, oh no, not even a shadow or reason. But if there 
is a Jesus, why does He not help me? I am slipping, 
falling, burning up!” he shrieked, throwing himself in 
a frenzy upon her couch and burying his face in the 
pillow. 

Mrs. Gray hastily administered more coffee, and then 
for an hour the patient was comparatively quiet. Realiz- 
ing the uselessness of further talk, she sat by his side 
awaiting developments. 

“What is that?” suddenly he asked, “right up there 
in the corner?” 

“I don’t see nothin’, Mr. Bruce.” 

“Why, right up there. Can’t you see it? And there’s 
another and another!” jumping frantically to his feet, 
clutching anything within reach. “Satan has me bound 
with chains from the infernal region, holding the key 
himself, and now he is sending his imps to get me! 
See ! Help ! Run ! Oh, they are coming down through 
the ceiling! Run, I say, run! Billy, save me, save 
your father!” and the victim of delirium tremens fell 
prostrate upon the floor. This was his second attack. 



CHAPTER V 
Billy's Dream 

M ARJORIE’S womanhood now asserted itself for 
the first time in many months, enabling her to 
face the situation. She sat down by her husband, 
soothing him with tender assurances of protection. 

“Never mind, dear, they cannot hurt you. Marjorie 
is here, your old-time Marjorie, and has come back to 
stay, I trust. I’ll protect you. Mrs. Gray has gone for 
a physician, and Billy is right here by your side.” 

In a short time the doctor arrived, and Mr. Bruce was 
taken to his own rooms. Presently he was quietly sleep- 
ing under the influence of the medicine, and explicit 
directions were given for his treatment when he should 
awaken. 

“Mis’ Bruce,” said Mrs. Gray, “now you go to bed, 
poor thing, and I’ll see that your man is all right.” 

“No, I thank you, but refuse. I cannot remember 
when I have done one womanly act, so do not deny me 
the privilege of caring for my husband tonight. Oh, I 
love him, and I am to blame for all this disgrace. He 
was once so grand, so true, so noble,” and the suffering 
little woman sobbed for many minutes in the arms of her 
new friend. 

“There, dearie, I wouldn’t take on so if I was you. 
36 


Billy’s Dream 37 

He’ll get over this, for the doctor said he’d seen many 
worse cases.” 

“Yes, but my conscience thoroughly awakened for the 
first time in years is torturing me.” 

“Well, well, just leave it with the Lord, but don’t 
trust yourself to reform, Mis’ Bruce. You can’t do it, 
but He’ll help you.” 

“Do you think so?” 

“I know it. I didn’t drink, but all my life have been 
a slave to my temper which is as hard to control as the 
appetite, when once it gets the upperhand. I ain’t 
boastin’, for it may come up ag’in, but I know the very 
minute I really trusted the Lord to help me, life seemed 
all different, and He come right into my heart, glory ! 

“Now I see you’re right; it is best for you to set 
up with your man, so I’ll leave, but’ll be here handy, if 
anything’s wantin’.” 

The bells on St. John’s several blocks away were 
sweetly and faintly chiming the midnight hour, when 
Billy slipped from his cot to join his mother in her sad 
vigil. 

“Darling,” she said, after a long period of silence, 
“mamma wants to be a better woman, but cannot with- 
out the help of her boy.” 

“And Jesus too, don’t forget Him.” 

“But I have forgotten Him for a long, long time.” 

“Did you know about Him then?” he asked in sur- 
prise. 

“Yes.” 

“Oh, how could you forget Him? Before I got up 
I had such a strange dream. I thought I had stole a 
whole lot of bread, and the cop caught me and put the 
biggest handcuffs on my hands I ever saw. He was 
takin’ me away, when all at once I saw you and papa 
before me. You both had on handcuffs too, and chains 
all about you, only it seemed that the chains was made 


38 


Burton Street Folks 


of whisky bottles. You was cryin’ and papa was scream- 
in’. He said: ‘It’s too late, too late! We’re goin’ 
over the precipice now !’ and I saw right in front of us 
an awful big black hole that didn’t seem to have no 
bottom to it. Just then Mis’ Gray come runnin’ as fast 
as ever she could and called us to follow her, and I 
thought the cop let us. The chains and handcuffs were 
so heavy we could hardly do it, but after while we got 
_ where there was some men. They was standin’ by a 
cross and nailin’ Jesus fast to it. It looked so awful I 
cried, but He just smiled at us all and said He was 
takin’ our places, and right away the handcuffs and 
chains dropped off. 

“I wish it was true.” 

The heart-broken mother whispered softly : ‘‘The 
dream is true as to yourself, Billy, and it shall be of me, 
God being my helper. Right now I feel that no power 
on earth could tempt me to touch another drop, but I 
am weak, so weak, I will just trust God.” 

“Laddie,” some time later, “we must not rest now 
till papa is free from his chains too. But it will be 
harder for him ; I know him well.” 

“Yes, ma,” and his head with drowsiness fell against 
her shouldei'. 

His thin, small body was no burden to his mother as 
she carried him to his cot and laid him gently down. 

Till with the breaking of the day her husband grew 
restless, Marjorie remained upon her knees by her boy 
in agony of soul far too deep for utterance, reviewing 
her worse than wasted life, and seeking the help and 
wisdom of God for the battles she knew must come. 



CHAPTER VI 
Silent Sufferers 

I N a few days Mr. Bruce was at work again and de- 
termined that he would never touch another drop of 
liquor. His wages he gave to Marjorie, who added 
to their rooms many little homelike touches. Billy was 
placed in school and was happier then ever before in 
his short, stormy life. 

Mrs. Gray was assiduously avoided by Mr. Bruce, 
though at every chance meeting he treated her with the 
utmost respect. 

“Never mind, darlinV , she would say to Marjorie, 
“I’m glad to see him so, for it’s a sign he’s thinkin’ 
about God. I’d like to talk to him some more mighty 
well, but guess I’ve said enough for the present. I’m 
sure he’ll be all right yet, but he’ll not hold out the 
way he’s doin’. Don’t let it hurt you too much for 
him to take to drink ag’in, and mebbe harder’n ever.” 

“I do not talk to him of religious things often my- 
self, Mrs. Gray,” Marjorie would confess almost shame- 
facedly, “for my life will be a more powerful sermon 
than my words. 

“It is low for a man to drink, but how much more 
low for a woman. I am to blame; I missed my oppor- 
tunity with Lawrence years ago. I might have led him 
39 



40 


Burton Street Folks 


to the right, he always loved me so. He did not in- 
tend to fall. He was a born social leader and was the 
central figure wherever he went. The popular demand 
was for the wine glass, and through it my Lawrence 
began to slip, and I with him. How little we dreamed 
of our danger. Oh, why did we not see it then, and 
why is such alluring temptation allowed to be cast across 
the pathway of careless, happy, unsuspecting youth !” 

Several weeks had passed and spring was approaching. 
Mr. Bruce had come home drunk on many occasions, 
and during his sober periods was growing more irritable 
than Marjorie had ever seen him. How she tried to 
help by making their rooms attractive, by preparing cool- 
ing drinks and dainty ices, by taking long walks with 
him and by anticipating his every want, Mrs. Gray fur- 
nishing the money from her trust fund, when Marjorie’s 
ran low, but all to no avail. Trying days for poor Mar- 
jorie these! Surely she would have fallen by the way- 
side, but for her unbounded delight in her son and his 
unquestioning confidence in her. Rather than to dis- 
appoint him, her prayer was, that before her hand should 
again raise the cup to her lips, it might fall hopelessly 
paralyzed to her side. 

Her melancholy moods she tried bravely to conceal, 
but what eye is so keen as the eye of love? Mr. Bruce 
knew that his wife was in anguish, but, well, he was 
in hell, and the sooner his family were rid of him the 
better. He had proven now beyond all doubt, he argued, 
that he could not break away from his temptation. Had 
he not suffered for four long weeks without allowing a 
drop of liquor to pass his thirsty lips? He had not 
meant to yield then, but he was weak and tired and ill. 
Perhaps just a little would tide him safely over the 
crisis, he had thought, so to O’Conner’s he went, having 
studiously avoided that portion of the street since the 
evening of his memorable experience with Mrs. Gray. 


Silent Sufferers 


41 


He was not prepared for the taunts and ribaldry of 
O’Conner and his barroom associates, so after taking 
the first drink, he took another and yet another, just to 
prove how false were their assertions of his being tied 
to the apron strings of a fat old woman mission ranter. 
Since then such a passion had seized him that drink he 
must and drink he would till he died. But then poor 
Marjorie and the laddie! What a bequest for them — 
a drunkard’s name, a drunkard’s poverty, a drunkard’s 
disgrace and a drunkard’s unmarked grave, which, per- 
haps, under cover of darkness they would sometimes 
visit together ! 

Marjorie was changed, oh, yes, he knew that, but then 
Marjorie never did mean to do wrong. She was weak, 
that was all, and loved him so trustingly that she fol- 
lowed in his footsteps wherever he went, even to ruin. 

Yes, he had ruined her and compelled their only son 
to darken and stain his childhood. He was older in 
the knowledge of crime than any grown man should be, 
and all because of a drunken father. Oh, if that very 
minute he might fall to his knees in the prison cell which 
had given Billy shelter on that pitilessly cold winter 
night, maybe God would give him strength even yet to 
overcome. But, no, too late, too late! The sooner he 
died the better now. When he was gone Marjorie would 
love him still, for she would never love another. And 
then she would be free to devote her whole time to the 
laddie without wasting any more upon an unworthy 
husband, and in him she would be repaid. 

Billy was young yet and the trials of his childhood 
would soon grow dim. By and by, in his maturer years 
when he should give his drunken father a thought, he 
might be charitable and forgiving. And then Marjorie, 
(God keep her always), to their boy would never speak 
of his father’s failures — only of his virtues, and that 
would help to mold his opinion. 


42 


Burton Street Folks 


And so they suffered on, this husband and wife, each 
shielding the other, till one stifling summer night a 
crisis came. 



CHAPTER VII 
The Interrupted Journey 

M R. Bruce, recovering from intoxication, had been 
unable to work that day. He was more than 
usually sad and quiet, and he refused the deli- 
cate food prepared by Marjorie, even though she wept 
in her entreaties for him at least to taste it. 

For some time he had been walking nervously about 
the room, when suddenly he stopped by her side and 
kissed her trembling lips. 

“Do you love me, darling?” he said. 

“Why, yes, Lawrence, more than all the world. You 
do not doubt it, do you?” 

“No, I do not,” and a smile lighted up his haggard 
face. 

“And how is it with you, laddie, do you love papa 
too?” 

“You bet I do.” 

“It is not every man who has so much love bestowed 
upon him, and now on the strength of your statements, 
I think I shall go for a walk.” 

He had taken a few steps down the hallway when 
he returned, ostensibly for a drink of water, and kissed 
them each again, this time hastening away. 

For some reason Marjorie was sorely depressed. 
43 


44 


Burton Street Folks 


She wished that she had gone along, but then surely 
he would return soon. She tried to become interested 
in a book Mrs. Gray had brought in for her “Billy 
boy, ,, but on each page all she could see was the 
smoothly-shaven face of a tall, slender man wanly smil- 
ing, a lock of prematurely gray hair carelessly falling 
over a noble forehead, and dark eyes glittering with an 
unnatural fire. Why had Lawrence asked so abruptly 
after his day of unwonted silence if she loved him, and 
why had he returned after starting? Was it for water, 
or the kiss which she remembered now to have been if 
possible more tender than usual ? She cast a frightened 
glance at William, but no, he was only a child and 
knew nothing of gloomy forebodings. 

An hour dragged by. At every noise, real or im- 
aginary, Marjorie jumped almost from her chair. 
Finally realizing that her nerves were overpowering her, 
she determined to try to find Lawrence. 

“Billy, ” she tried to speak unconcernedly, “let us take 
a walk too; it is so very warm in here. We may meet 
papa.” 

Entering the hallway, at the top of the stairs a little 
to one side, Billy picked up something white. 

“Ma, here’s a letter; the postman must have dropped 
it.” 

Snatching it almost frantically from the child’s hand, 
Marjorie rushed to a light, and one look only sufficed 
to wring from her a low moan of anguish and despair. 
In a familiar handwriting the one word “Marjorie” 
was inscribed across the envelope. 

For a moment everything was black and reeling, but 
God heard the unuttered cry of her broken heart and 
gave her strength to break the seal and read the fol- 
lowing : 


The Interrupted Journey 


45 


My Darling: — 

The battle is lost; I can fight no longer. When you find this 
note by the morning light, I shall be no more. Do not grieve, 
for it is better so. An angel from heaven could have done no 
more than you, my wife, have done, but there is no help for me. 

Think of me not as a suicide, but as murdered — murdered by 
the licensed foe that lurks first in the alluring splendor of the 
sparkling glass, and then leads his unwilling victim downward 
step by step through poverty, suffering and disgrace into hell. 

Teach our boy to avenge his father’s blood by waging fierce 
battle against this accursed demon. 

Now that I, the cause of your downfall, am gone, return with 
the laddie to your childhood’s home, where, I know, you will be 
welcomed. 

And now, my darling, farewell — farewell forever. As I enter 
the silent land my last thought shall be of you and your de- 
voted love. By and by, when you, and William too, shall have 
crossed the mystic river, but you to the celestial city of which 
I have heard you speak, please, amid all the joys and glories 
there sometimes think with tenderness, pity and love of 

Your Lost Lawrence. 

Having read the note as one in a dream, with almost 
superhuman effort Marjorie gained control of herself, 
and clutching Billy by the hand sped down the stairway 
and into the open street. 

In the meantime Mr. Bruce had become the center of 
an excited group in O’Conner’s barroom. 

“Young man,” he was saying, as a youth of per- 
haps eighteen years was about to take a drink, “touch 
not the accursed stuff. If you do, it will soon make 
of you more truly a slave than any wretch who ever 
bared his back beneath the galling lash of a merciless 
taskmaster.” 

“What!” shouted O’Conner, “are you trying to in- 
jure my business?” 

“Yes,” was the cool reply. 

“Queer enough, for you are one of my best patrons.” 

“I know that, and for that very reason I am here 
tonight to let these men see the end of one who follows 
you closely for years. You are about to witness a lost 


46 Burton Street Folks 

soul plunge into the mysteries of a boundless beyond.” 

“What do you mean, Bruce?” asked O’Conner quak- 
ing from head to foot. 

“Only what I say. 

“And now,” turning to the dozen or more men pres- 
ent, “look at me, a graduate from one of the finest col- 
leges in the land, a man who once belonged in the high- 
est social circles, who held a lucrative position in the 
largest department store in the city, and the husband of 
— O God, I cannot mention her name here — and the 
father of as dear a lad as was ever born. I have lost 
all, all, and have suffered for years the anguish of a 
man without hope, if you know what that means, and 
all because of the business represented by this man 
O’Conner. I would not be too hard on him, oh, no, 
for he is properly and legally licensed to work this ruin. 
But, men, in God’s name, right about face before your 
last atom of strength and will power leaves you, and,” 
drawing from his pocket a glittering razor, “upon the 
wreck of my ruined life build well.” 

During the tragic scene O’Conner had been growing 
white with rage, for well he knew the effect upon that 
night’s sales. With curses and oaths filling the air, he 
grasped a heavy bottle hurling it with all his might 
toward Mr. Bruce’s head and saying: “Drop the razor, 
I’ll save you the trouble of using it !” 

The bottle missed its mark, but on it crashed. A faint 
scream, and upon the filthy floor lay the limp body of 
a delicate little woman, a stream of blood covering her 
white forehead. 

Amazement and horror held all spell-bound, till a boy 
dashed forward uttering a horrified cry. 

The now thoroughly frightened O’Conner, grasping 
the import of the situation, sped from the rear of the 
room with the utmost haste, and it was well that he did. 
The excited and half-drunken men in their intense anger 


The Interrupted Journey 


47 


and indignation were ready to wreak upon him their 
vengeance for his cruel and dastardly deed. 

A policeman entered to ascertain the trouble, but no 
arrests were made. 

The next morning’s paper stated merely that there 
had been another drunken brawl in O’Conner’s Burton 
street saloon, an ordinary occurrence indeed, in which 
a number of men and one woman of low class had had 
a hand. 

When Mr. Bruce saw lying upon the floor his Mar- 
jorie, he stood transfixed with terror, nor could he move 
till Billy’s piercing shriek rent the air. A moan, but 
the epitome of all his heart’s anguish, was the only 
sound to escape him. Then tenderly lifting in his arms 
the apparently lifeless form, he rushed to a nearby drug 
store, followed by Billy and several others. 

A physician was summoned. 

“No,” he said in answer to the question he read in 
the agonized expression on Mr. Bruce’s face, “she is 
not dead, neither is she fatally injured, providing no 
complications, arise. 

“Thank God,” was all the husband could say. 

The bells of St. John’s once more were chiming the 
midnight hour, when, everything being done that could 
be done, Mr. Bruce, alone at last, knelt by the bedside 
of his sleeping and all but martyred wife. Long had 
he been there, too dazed for consecutive thought, to 
say nothing of cogent reasoning, when in the adjoining 
room Billy slipped from his bed, silently joining his 
father, and tucking a soft, warm hand within the cold, 
thin one outstretched in welcome. 

Poor, troubled, sympathetic child ! . His heart seemed 
heavier than a load of stone. He wanted to help, but 
then how could he, for he was only a boy? 

Presently a sob escaping him, his father was aroused. 

“What is it, my boy?” he whispered. “Do not worry 


48 


Burton Street Folks 


about mamma, for you and I together, and Mrs. Gray 
will soon make her well.” 

“No, daddy, not that, but I was thinkin’ — ” 

“Speak on, son, and tell me.” 

“That I wished — wished you’d let Jesus do it.” 

“Do what, Billy?” 

“Oh, break those awful chains, ’cause He wants to, 
and He said He took your place.” 

Fearing that they might disturb the patient, the dis- 
tracted father with his weeping son entered the next 
room, and for many minutes he paced rapidly backward 
and forward in such an agony of mind that few ever 
experience. He tried to think. 

Was Billy right? He might be. It could not be 
simply accident for Marjorie to have found the note he 
had not intended for her till morning, then with no 
clue whatever for tracing his footsteps, save that of his 
own slavish habit, to reach the saloon at just the proper 
moment for saving his life, and at such fearful cost! 
Only one moment more and he would have been beyond 
all help. That looked, the more he thought of it, as 
though God really did care for him after all, and if so, 
logically, there must be hope. Oh, how he trembled 
and how his very being thrilled! Hope — hope for him ? 
Could it be possible? He feared to think so. 

“You are sure Billy, God will help?” 

“Of course. He helped mamma.” 

“Yes, yes, so He did. I certainly have seen in the 
last few months what His power can do, and I will put 
it to the test myself.” 

Mr. Bruce, not the one who had entered the room a 
while before, but the transformed Mr. Bruce, with peace 
filling his soul, again sought the bedside of his wife, 
and whispered in her unhearing ear that God had given 
her a new husband who, by His help, henceforth would 
be more worthy of her great love and devotion. 



CHAPTER VIII 
Mrs. Gray, Strategist 

M RS. Gray, after the evening of her first brief en- 
counter with O’Conner, could not rest till an 
effort was made toward renting a room for the 
prospective mission. Burton street needed a mission, 
she reasoned, a wealthy man of consecration would pay 
all necessary expenses, so she was quite willing indeed 
to match wits with O’Conner in the securing of a loca- 
tion. 

A week had elapsed since the evening of her ex- 
perience with the Bruces, before she found time and 
opportunity to begin her work in earnest. She knew 
of three vacant rooms in the immediate neighborhood, 
any one of which might suit her purpose, one of them 
being in the building adjoining O’Conner’s, and the 
other two directly across the street. 

One dreary afternoon, with the rain falling and the 
wind blowing, she started forth, first going to the agent 
in charge of the room nearest the saloon. 

“Is there something I may do for you, madam ?” he 
courteously inquired, placing for her a chair. 

“Well, yes, I guess so, thank you, sir. I come to 
ask about that there room right down below here with 
the ‘For rent’ card in the window. Is it rented yet?” 

49 


50 


Burton Street Folks 


“It is not.” 

“Then I’ll take it.” 

“Ordinarily, madam, a prospective renter inquires into 
prices, et cetera, before making a definite decision. You 
seem a little hasty.” 

“I be, but I’m on the King's business, and that always 
requires haste. I know what the average room around 
here rents for, and I want it, and for five years too. 
I’m ready to have the papers drawed up right away.” 

“Ah, pardon me, are you, — well, may I ask to what 
purpose you expect to devote the room in question?” 

“Oh, I’m just goin’ to open up a little business that’ll 
be for the general good of all who give me a call.” 

“Do you mean a mission?” 

“Yes, that is exactly what I mean.” 

“Then I am very sorry indeed to inform you that 
the room is not available for that purpose.” 

“For the land’s sake, why?” 

“I am not here to discuss the situation, madam ; I am 
only an agent for those in authority. If there is . no- 
thing else I may do for you, we shall consider, our inter- 
view closed.” 

There being no alternative, Mrs. Gray slowly walked 
through the door he held open for her. Disappointed,' 
though not discouraged, she made her way to the agent 
in charge of the other rooms, but with him met with no 
better success. 

Not knowing what else to do, she then turned home- 
ward, where she might quietly think the matter over 
without interruption. While passing O’Conner’s saloon, 
he stepped out, greeting her with mock civility. 

“My mission friend, I believe, whose name I have 
been happy to learn is Mrs. Gray. May I ask you, with- 
out wishing to be inquisitive of course, what success 
you have had in securing a desirable location for your 
most worthy enterprise?” 


Mrs. Gray, Strategist 


51 


“If you mean by all that gush, O’Conner, whether 
I'm goin’ to get a room or not, I’ll say yes.” 

He looked surprised and laid aside his mask of dig- 
nity. 

“1 believe you lie, you old — ” 

“No, I don’t either. I didn’t say I already have a 
room, but that I’m goin’ to get one, and I am too, if I 
have to hunt every day for a year.” 

“Oh, that’s different. ‘A bird in the hand,’ you know, 
‘is worth two in the bush’ any time. There’s nothing, 
I assure you,” with an air of superiority, “like standing 
in well with rich up-town brewers who now and then 
happen to own a building or two.” 

“So that’s it, is it O’Conner? You asked them brew- 
ers to notify their agents not to rent to me. You’re 
afraid to have the Lord’s work begun here, and well 
you may be, for just as fast as His work gets a foot- 
hold, the devil has to step down and out, though nothin’ 
personal meant by that of course. I’ll let you know 
just as soon as I get a room. 

“I must be movin’ on now really though, for climbin’ 
up and down so many steps and bein’ out in this here 
rain is givin’ me the rheumatiz all over. Good day.” 

“Not quite all over, I guess, the more’s the pity for 
it ain’t struck your tongue yet, ha, ha, ha ! 

“My tenderest sympathy goes with you, by dear Mrs. 
Gray. Good day.” 

Mrs. Gray sat long over her toast and tea that eve- 
ning, thinking of her afternoon’s experience. 

Had an observer been present when at last she laid 
her weary body down to rest, it would have been evident 
from the expression of determination on her face, that 
some plan of aggression had taken tangible form within 
her mind. 

On the next morning at about eleven o’clock she 
found herself in the handsome reception room of Dr. 


52 


Burton Street Folks 


Dale’s office, patiently waiting for her turn to come 
when she might be ushered into the presence of this 
very prominent physician. At last the welcome sum- 
mons came. Fifteen minutes thereafter the doctor him- 
self had seen her to the elevator, and then had re-entered 
his private office and was laughing till the tears were 
chasing each other down his cheeks. 

“If she can do it,” was his thought, “I’ll see her 
through, if my check has to be doubled and then doubled 
again. And my letter of recommendation will show her 
to be a person of reliability when she has legal business 
to transact.” 

That afternoon, cautiously to be sure, for she had no 
desire to see O’Conner, she walked into the pawn shop 
next door to the saloon. 

“Has the lady something to leave, or has she come 
to redeem some articles of value?” asked the black- 
eyed Jew, rubbing his hands together and smiling blandly 
at the prospect of, perhaps, getting the better end of 
some new deal. 

“No, neither, thank you sir.” 

“Then let me sell you something cheap, very cheap. 
I have some bargains the like of which you have never 
seen — in fact, the best ever offered. And if I can trust 
you, as I am sure I can, I’ll do even better, making you 
some confidential prices, strictly confidential, you under- 
stand. I could do it with no one else.” 

“Just wait a minute, Mr. Devi, will you and give me 
a chance to tell what I want?” 

“To be sure, to be sure, but I am positive I can 
please you and at bottom prices. No one ever under- 
sells me — ” 

“Hold on, Mr. Levi; I don’t want nothin’ you’ve got 
in the room, but want the room itself — who owns this 
here buildin’?” 

“A stock company, but the lady must be out of her 
head.” 


Mrs. Gray, Strategist 


53 


“No, I ain’t either. Who’s their agent?” 

“Mr. Emerson.” 

“Glory! then he ain’t one of them pesky fellows I 
seen yesterday. 

“If you’ll just rent one of them rooms across the 
street for yourself, Mr. Levi, and transfer your lease 
on this one to me, and do it this afternoon, I’ll give 
you fifty dollars, and have it right here in my pocket 
now.” 

“The lady is asking a great deal for a little,” never- 
theless Mrs. Gray did not fail to note the avaricious 
gleam of the snapping black eyes. “Fifty dollars would 
be a very small consideration. Can’t you do better?” 

Mrs. Gray did not intend telling him till she had to 
that she could make it seventy-five dollars and as much 
more as necessary. 

“How would sixty do then, Mr. Levi?” 

“Couldn’t think of it for so little, couldn’t think of 
it at all.” 

“Very well, then, good day. I’m awful sorry we 
can’t come to no agreement.” 

“Wait a minute, will the lady wait?” as she started 
for the door. 

“Mr. Levi, I’m in a hurry. Say what you’ll do, or 
I’ll leave.” 

“If the lady will make it sixty, and pay all legal and 
moving expenses, I’ll have the transfer made this very 
afternoon.” 

“Thank you, I’ll do it; come on.” 

Some time later Mrs. Gray triumphantly and boldly 
walked up to O’Conner’s saloon and entered. 

“How’d do, Mr. O’Conner,” she said brightly. “Bein’ 
a woman of my word, I just thought I’d drop in a 
spell on my way home and tell you about my room.” 

“Yes,” he answered decidedly surprised, “you’ve got 
one, have you, in a different location?” 


54 


Burton Street Folks 


“Yes, a different location from what I was lookin’ 
at yesterday, and much better.” 

“Several blocks away then, for the three rooms you 
looked after yesterday are the only nearby vacancies. 
In what block are you?” 

“In the one generally known around these parts as 
O’Conner’s.” 

“What,” he thundered, growing purple with rage, 
“you are an old black-tongued liar !” 

Mrs. Gray’s placidity was not in the least disturbed. 

“I told you,” she answered with exasperating calm- 
ness, “that I was goin’ to get a foothold here, and I 
have. I’m goin’ to be your next door neighbor to the 
right, O’Conner, and just to save expenses, wouldn’t it 
be a good thing for us to go into partnership buyin’ a 
sign board? The end of it over your door could say, 
‘This way to hell,’ and over mine, ‘This way to heaven.’ ” 

“Ha, ha, O’Conner!” chimed in an interested loafer, 
“more truth’n poetry in that remark, but, say, I bet if 
your thoughts right now was put into print, they 
wouldn’t look well as a motto for the other end of the 
sign.” 

When the boisterous laughter occasioned by these re- 
marks had subsided sufficiently, Mrs. Gray in reply to 
O’Conner’s sullen question continued: 

“How did I get hold of the room? Oh, that’s easy. 
It may be a good thing to stand in well with rich up- 
town brewers, but it’s a heap sight better to stand in 
well with rich up-town doctors that love the Lord and 
ain’t afraid to spend their money for Him. It ain’t much 
trouble to transfer leases, you know, and I take posses- 
sion in three days. You understand I ain’t goin’ to do 
the preachin.’ These up-town folks is goin’ to see that 
that’s looked after.” 

O’Conner’s rage was growing uncontrollable. He 
cursed till even the loafers on the empty whiskey bar- 


Mrs. Gray, Strategist 


55 


rels were disgusted, and called down imprecations on 
her head till his vocabulary, extensive though as it was 
in such terms, was exhausted. 

“Well, I’m awful sorry,” she said, preparatory to leav- 
ing, “to hear you talk so about the blessed Jesus that 
took your place once, for He loves you yet, O’Conner. 
But, poor man, I expect nobody has ever gone to the 
trouble to tell you much about Him. You ain’t never 
seen only the dark and evil side of life, but how glad 
the Master’d be to take you by the hand and lead you 
out into the sunlight of His love. You know, O’Conner, 
better ’n .1 do that saloon-keepers don’t get much but 
kicks and abuses from ’most of folks. The Lord’s about 
all that loves ’em, I guess, so if I was you, I’d quit 
cursin’ Him.” 

The bartender was unprepared for this sudden turn, 
so stood speechless, if not altogether ashamed, while 
Mrs. Gray shook hands with all present, himself in- 
cluded, cordially inviting them to call at the other end 
of the sign as soon as the room should be opened. 



CHAPTER IX 
The Mission Launched 

M RS. GRAY’S conversion was not simply in 
theory, but was a fact potent and vitalizing, alter- 
ing entirely her modus operandi. Always inde- 
pendent, original, energetic, now with the love of God 
and fellowmen permeating her very being, she threw 
herself into the work of the mission with a zeal both 
commendable and unique. Knowing from experience 
the trials of abject poverty, this almoner of Dr. Dale’s 
was pre-eminently fitted for her position. Of social 
settlement work she had never heard, but being thor- 
oughly practical, she realized that “preachin’ ” only could 
not meet the requirements of a starving man. She hoped 
to spend much of her time in going from house to house 
to look up the neglected, in relieving necessity where 
the doing of it would not tend to pauperize the recipient 
of her gifts, and above all to solicit recruits for the 
mission. 

When at last she came into possession of the vacated 
pawn shop, the joy known only to those who have given 
themselves in service for others filled her already happy 
heart to overflowing. The room was not large, neither 
well lighted nor ventilated, but the thorough cleaning 
under her supervision and the fresh calcimining of the 
56 


The Mission Launched 


57 


walls worked wonders. Scripture texts were every- 
where in evidence, substantial chairs stood in precise 
straight rows, but the crown of all was a fine new 
organ close by the stand which held the Bible. The 
organ was a surprise from Dr. Dale, who himself was 
a musician. 

While all these details of arrangement were being 
completed, Mrs. Gray’s active brain was trying to de- 
vise a suitable inscription for the “sign board,” sub- 
ject, of course, to the approval of Dr. Dale. Scripture 
texts, “The Lighthouse,” “The Life-Line,” “The Rescue 
Mission,” were all becoming in her mind a kind of inde- 
finable mass, when suddenly she decided on “Hope for 
the Hopeless Through This Door,” thinking that the 
reader would instantly contrast in his mind the difference 
between the two doors, or the two ends of the sign. 

It was late in the afternoon before the mission was 
to be opened in the evening. Mrs. Gray alone, tired, 
happy, was sitting where she could note the general 
effect of the room, when — crash! She rushed to the 
front, and there on the walk lay her beloved sign board 
in splinters. Tears for a moment filled her eyes, then 
she slowly went back and locked the door, drew the 
blinds at the windows and dropped upon her knees. 

“O Lord,” she prayed, “I know O’Conner done that, 
but I didn’t see him. He’s sendin’ so many poor fellows 
in the wrong direction, that I want to help start ’em 
in the right. Give me courage, and I’ll never give up. 
Amen.” 

Promptly at seven o’clock that evening the door of 
the signless Hope Mission was thrown open. Dr. Dale, 
a small, alert man in the habit of commanding and 
being obeyed, presided, and only a little less enthusiastic 
than was Mrs. Gray. The room was full of men and 
boys, with here and there a woman. As Mrs. Gray 
surveyed the audience her heart throbbed, and tears 


58 


Burton Street Folks 


again filled her eyes. The mission was needed, that was 
evident, and a mission Burton street should have, if 
O’Conner should tear down the whole building. Bleared 
eyes and purple faces, glittering eyes and haggard faces 
were everywhere to be seen, despair stamped on nearly 
all. Oh, yes, the mission was needed! 

After the songs. Dr. Dale stated in a few simple 
words that Hope Mission was opened for the benefit 
of any who might need help in temporal or spiritual 
things, and that every evening there would be a service 
conducted by himself or some one else from his church, 
their object being to lead the lost to Christ and to 
help the unfortunate to help themselves. 

Cordially inviting all present to return and bring 
their acquaintances, he then picked up his Bible and 
turned to the story of the Prodigal Son. 

“ ‘A certain man had two sons : And the younger 
of them said to his father, Father, give me the 
portion of goods that falleth to me. And he divided 
unto them his living. And not many days after, the 
younger son gathered all together, and took his jour- 
ney into a far country, and there wasted his substance 
with riotous living. And when he had spent all, there 
arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to 
be in want. And he went and joined himself to a 
citizen of that country; and he sent him into his fields 
to feed swine. And he would fain have filled his belly 
with the husks that the swine did eat : and no man gave 
unto him. And when he came to himself, he said, 
How many hired servants of my father’s have bread 
enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger! I will 
arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, 
Father, I have sinned against heaven and before thee, 
and am no more worthy to be called thy son: make 
me as one of thy hired servants. And he arose and came 
to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, 


The Mission Launched 


59 


his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and 
fell on his neck, and kissed him. And the son said unto 
him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy 
sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son. But 
the father said to his servants, Bring forth the best 
robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand 
and shoes on his feet: And bring hither the fatted calf 
and kill it; and let us eat and be merry. For this my 
son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost and is 
found. And they began to be merry/ 

“We have here briefly a picture of the sinner away 
from God, his awakening, his return and the Father’s 
love. 

“The earlier part of this young man’s sojourn was 
spent in riotous living, or what the world terms ‘having 
a good time.’ By and by, his money gone, a famine 
swept over the land, obliging him to join himself to a 
citizen of this foreign country. This citizen put him 
to the most disreputable task in his power, that of feed- 
ing the swine. The young man in his hunger fain 
would have eaten the husks the swine ate, but note 
especially, ‘no man gave unto him.’ Many of you, men, 
see in this your own portrait. In those earlier years 
when you were sowing your wild oats, you were popu- 
lar with your companions. As long as you were able to 
put up the treat they flocked around you, but presently 
the famine came, or in other words, through your riot- 
ous living your money was gone and you were deserted 
by your so-called friends. Then you found yourself 
hopelessly bound to Satan, doing at his bidding what 
you would not. 

“The young man in his misery began thinking of his 
father’s house, knowing that the most menial servant 
there was living a princely life compared to his own 
groveling condition. Why should he perish when at 
home there was enough and to spare? Pause for a 


60 


Burton Street Folks 


moment, men, and consider why you should perish, 
when you have the privilege of being sons of the 
Heavenly Father. 

My Father is rich in houses and lands, 

He holdeth the wealth of the world in His hands! 

Of rubies and diamonds, of silver and gold 
His coffers are full — He has riches untold. 

" 7 will arise.’ That was the pivot on which his whole 
life turned. 7 will tell my father/ he said, ‘how wicked 
I have been, and that I am no more worthy to be called 
his son/ He did not stop to argue the matter with 
himself — that he must first cleanse his life from this 
sin and from that sin, and that after all it was presumptu- 
ous for him to start, the probabilities being he could 
not hold out. What did he do? The only sane thing 
possible. He arose, and went. The first thing you must 
do, men, if you are ever saved, is to will to arise. Then, 
like the young man, do not for a moment stop to argue 
the case. If you do, looking at yourself and all the 
obstacles about you, you are no better off than you were 
before your awakening. Oh, that I could make you 
see the boundless depths of the Father’s yearning love! 
If I could, every one of you poor prodigals would 
come home to Him tonight. 

“ ‘And when he/ the young man, ‘was yet a great way 
off, his father saw him and had compassion, and ran, 
and fell on his neck and kissed him/ Is not that love? 
This boy by his willfulness and prodigality had well- 
nigh broken his father’s heart. Oh, the long midnight 
hours when he wondered where his boy could be, the 
restless days divided between hope and fear! But all 
the anguish is forgotten now: the boy is coming home. 
That is all the father wants to know. How did he 
answer his son’s confession? By saying, ‘Yes, you have 
made me much trouble?’ No, but by commanding the 


The Mission Launched 


61 


servants to bring forth the best robe and put it on him, 
and to put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet, 
and to prepare a great feast in his honor. 

“When my little Margaret, now in the Father’s house 
above, was a small child, one day through her dis- 
obedience she wandered away. I was terror-stricken, 
for a baby alone in a large city is exposed to countless 
dangers. As I gave the alarm and started myself on 
the frantic search, to my mind’s eye I could see my 
darling ground to pieces beneath the many vehicles on 
the street, or worse still, stolen by some wretch. On, 
on I went, till at last coming around a corner I saw 
the little familiar form. Did I punish her? No, her 
fright was sufficient punishment, and I never loved her 
more than when I lifted her up, soiled garments and 
all, into my arms. And so, men, our heavenly Father 
is watching for you. He knows the numberless dan- 
gers to which you are exposed, and is longing unutter- 
ably for you to come home. All He asks is willingness 
on your part. He will meet you on the way, clothing 
you with Jesus’ righteousness. Moreover, ‘there is joy 
in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner 
that repenteth.’ He will forget your sins. He wants 
to save you. ‘Their sins and their iniquities will I re- 
member no more.’ ‘Him that cometh to me I will in 
no wise cast out.’ ” 

The strange assemblage listened attentively. There 
was no evidence that many were much impressed. 

But a few stayed for an informal after-meeting, 
among them being an overgrown country boy with a 
troubled, perplexed countenance. 

“Say, Doc,” suddenly he asked, “who told you about 
me ?” 

“No one. Why do you think so?” 

“Oh, ’cause,” growing red in the face, shuffling his 
feet over the floor and trying to find a place some- 


62 


Burton Street Folks 


where for his big, brawny hands. “I thought you meant 
me, and reckoned as how somebody’d told you.” 

“No, I never heard of you before, my boy, but tell me 
yourself,” sitting down by his side and smiling en- 
couragingly. 

“There ain’t much to tell, only me and dad and my 
sister lived on a farm a long ways from here down the 
country, and I got uneasy. I had been told that folks 
in a city can git rich without workin’ at all, if they wuz 
only smart enough, and I wanted to try. An agent 
down our way for a while said so, and he seemed to 
take to me right smart. I concluded to come to the 
city with him. I had a hundred and fifty dollars saved 
up, and he said I could make it a thousand or more in 
just a few days. Dad wouldn’t consent, so I run off, 
and I know it ’most broke his heart. When we got 
here the agent said I must learn a simple game with 
cards, but to do it I had to put up a little money. That 
sounded easy, so I bit, but got bit lots worse, Doc. He 
soon had the pile and skipped out. I ain’t seen him 
since, and have had an awful time, pickin’ up a job 
now and then when I could git it. I’m dead broke. I 
wish I wuz back with dad, but ain’t got no money fer a 
ticket. It’s so dirty here in the city, and I ain’t seen 
a sunset, or heard a bird sing since I come, and the 
river’s awful, it’s that nasty. It ain’t fit to drown in, 
or I expect I wouldn’t be here now. I don’t know how 
dad’ll git his work done this spring,” meditatively, “and 
it won’t be long till corn plowin’ time either.” 

“My boy,” asked the doctor gently, “do you really 
want to go home?” 

“Yes,” and he tried to conceal his tears. 

“Do you know anything about horses ?” 

“Oh, gee, yes, you bet I do,” brightening up instantly, 
“Dick and Belle is the work team, and dad give me Dan 
when he wuz just a little colt, and Dan would follow 


The Mission Launched 


63 


me when I went to the lower pasture for the cows just 
like good old Shep. Then when he got old enough to 
break, I rode him fur and near, and the fellow’s all 
said Dan’s like wuz not to be found, he wuz that swift 
and handsome. Dan’s a chestnut brown. I expect he 
misses me, and more’n likely he ain’t had exercise 
enough this winter.” 

“My boy, I can trust you, I think. I can give you 
work in my stables, and soon you will have enough 
money to take you back home. I’ll advance right now 
three dollars on your wages. Get yourself all the sup- 
per you can eat and a good night’s lodging, then in 
the morning come to this address,” handing him his 
card with the money. “Will you do it?” 

“Yes, thank ye, sir,” he answered as well as his 
swelling throat would permit, and drawing a ragged 
coat sleeve across his eyes. 

And he did. A few weeks thereafter an old white 
haired man “down the country” was made glad, and the 
boy, whistling as merrily as the redbirds, plowed the 
corn with Dick and Belle, while at the close of the 
busy days he would mount Dan’s back for a spin 
along the river side toward the gorgeously painted sun- 
sets. 

That wonderful first night after the mission Mrs. 
Gray was too happy to sleep, sp spent many hours over 
her Bible, and laying out plans for the future. 

The doctor, as he was entering his stone mansion, was 
sure he had never seen the stars shining so brightly be- 
fore, and he thought, of course it was imagination, 
that he saw up there among them the face of his little lost 
Margaret smiling down upon him. After looking for 
a moment at his sleeping foster child, he retired to his 
room, pitying his friends in his exclusive social circle, 
for he knew that to thent had never come the joy he 
experienced when extending a helping hand to the sim- 
ple-minded, homesick country boy. 



CHAPTER X 
The Mission Sailing 

M RS. GRAY’S signboard was torn down and re- 
placed a number of times, and the windows re- 
peatedly broken and repaired during the early 
months of Hope Mission. 

Occasionally the services were disturbed by loud talk- 
ing just out of the door, and not infrequently fire 
crackers and other explosives were used to annoy those 
within. 

In the course of time outward hostilities ceased, 
O’Conner’s attitude being entirely changed, and for two 
weeks he had attended the mission without missing a 
service. 

Dr. Dale and “Preacher Fairfax” were amazed and de- 
lighted that the saloon-keeper was being won over. 
Mrs. Gray, however, for some reason which she her- 
self could not understand, felt that there was a note of 
insincerity about the man, and she did not intend to be 
Unwarily trapped. 

Opening the room one evening an hour before the 
service as was her custom, she was not particularly sur- 
prised to see O’Conner walk in. 

“Good evening, Mrs. Gray,” he said pleasantly, ex- 


64 




The Mission Sailing 65 

tending his hand, “I cannot attend the mission tonight, 
so thought I’d drop in for a chat.” 

‘‘Very well, Mr. O’Conner, set down. Am sorry you 
can’t stay, for Dr. Dale’s goin’ to talk on the good 
Samaritan, helpin’ your neighbors, you know.” 

“I should be pleased to stay, thank you, if possible, 
but haven’t time even to sit down. To tell the truth, 
I am becoming quite interested in this enterprise of 
yours. I misunderstood you at first, and I hope you 
have it in your heart to let bygones be bygones.” 

“Certainly, but I must say I don’t like your business 
any better ’n I did before.” 

“To be sure, but that’s a little point on which we 
don’t agree, Mrs. Gray. To speak plainly, I’ll say that 
I think I have more of the Samaritan spirit than you 
have. You are trying to injure your neighbor’s busi- 
ness, while I to the contrary am trying to help and 
encourage mine.” 

“I appreciate your interest, Mr. O’Conner, but it’s 
more’n I can understand how you can be workin’ both 
ends of the sign at once.” 

“Ha, ha, you amuse me, but I must go right away. 
Regardless of our small difference of opinion and your 
opposition to me, I have decided to make a cash offer- 
ing to this work. Here is a box,” at the same time 
picking up his hat preparatory to leaving, “which con- 
tains one hundred dollars. Please hand it to Dr. Dale 
with my best wishes.” 

Dr. Dale at this moment unexpectedly entered, notic- 
ably to the discomfiture of O’Conner, who started hast- 
ily for the door. 

Mrs. Gray suspecting that something was wrong, 
stepped in front of him, effectually blocking the narrow 
aisle. 

“Here, Doctor,” she said, “open this box so as you can 
thank Mr. O’Conner before he leaves.” 


66 Burton Street Folks 

Upon complying with her request, the box was found 
to be empty. 

O’Conner's face grew white and then black with rage. 

“You sly old hag!” he shouted, shaking beneath her 
nose his fist, “the evil spirits protect you, I know, or I 
could corner you some way.” 

“O’Conner,” she replied without a tremor, “not the 
evil spirits protect me, but the heavenly Father. You 
did not intend to have that box opened in your presence, 
then later on you would have come back and had me 
arrested for stealing the money you would have sworn 
the box to have contained. And now,” stepping aside, 
“go on out, and the next time you come back may it 
be to seek the forgiveness of your sins.” 

This proved to be O’Conner’s last direct attack upon 
the mission or Mrs. Gray. Thereafter he turned siege 
upon the poor fellows seeking the right, doing all in 
his power to get them to visit his end of the sign in- 
stead of hers, and had placed in his saloon an or- 
chestra and other counter attractions, which for the 
time being perceptibly lessened the mission attendance. 

The days swiftly came and went, the importance of 
the work constantly growing. The need of a regular 
superintendent was becoming apparent, but as yet the 
man for the place could not be found. Dr. Dale was 
especially desirous that no mistake should be made, pre- 
fering to carry indefinitely the responsibility himself, to 
hastening the matter unduly. It was not his inten- 
tion in any respect to supplant Mrs. Gray, who filled 
her own sphere with a faithfulness that would put to 
shame many a more richly endowed Christian. 

The doctor more than once admitted to himself that, 
when fatigue and the pressure of his busy life tempted 
him to be somewhat negligent, a thought of Mrs. Gray 
kept him true to his own ideals. 

Mrs. Gray was unfeignedly happy, but the one long- 


The Mission Sailing 


67 


ing of her soul was to be able to “talk/" so that she 
too might be the direct means of rescuing a few of the 
lost. One evening she felt a strong desire to speak to 
a man who was young, yet only a wreck. He was 
tall and heavy, his black hair falling about his face in a 
tangled mass; his features were unusually handsome, 
except for the unmistakable signs of a dissipated life, 
and his clothes were disreputable. 

As Mrs. Gray sat down by his side, he drew away, 
saying that he was unfit for a self-respecting woman to 
speak to. He did not know why he was there, unless 
it was the music that attracted him. He had had no 
thought of entering, but was on his way to the drug 
store to procure carbolic acid with which to put an 
end to his miserable existence. Had he a wife? Oh, 
yes, and two little girls, and how he longed to see 
them ! At one time he received .a large salary and sup- 
ported his family in luxury in one of the largest hotels 
of the city. He began drinking wine socially, and then 
went down, down, DOWN ! His wife did all she could 
to save him, but he left her, knowing himself unfit to 
be in her pure and noble presence. 

These facts were given disjointedly, his massive frame 
shaking with convulsive sobs. Mrs. Gray pointed him 
to the Saviour as well as she knew how, for “Christ 
Jesus came into the world to save sinners.” He seemed 
unable to grasp it, his agony only increasing. All he 
did was to promise to return the next evening, which 
promise he kept. Illness keeping Mrs. Gray at home, 
she received from Dr. Dale the message that the man 
had been gloriously saved. 

In a few days the following letter* came, the memory 
of which ever afterward gave her courage to extend the 

*A copy of a letter in the hands of the author, written by a convert of 
the Pacific Garden Mission, Chicago. The foregoing, account of the man is 
correct. 


68 


Burton Street Folks 


helping hand even to the apparently most hopeless 
cases : 

Dear Madam:— 

I hope you will forgive my abrupt and plainly-spoken words, 
having met you but once. That was under strange circumstances, 
but I shall always remember the way it made my introduction to 
a new and better world. You will forgive my way of writing. 
Writing letters on a religious matter has been entirely foreign 
to me, and this will make my first attempt. Were it a letter on 
political economy, I could start and finish very well. 

I cannot describe my feelings after I left you that night. I 
lived my whole life over again in a few short hours. It was a 
night of horror, no sleep for me. I got out of bed and dressed 
at midnight, and walked the streets till morning like a mad man, 
all the passion in me being roused to its highest pitch. The 
fight was on between right and wrong. I thought I was going 
mad. I tried to reason with myself, but could not; tried to see 
if there were any love in me. There was not, only the love of 
a hyena as it destroys its helpless prey. Then I remembered 
the verse you repeated to me: “Come, let us reason together/’ 
and I tried to reason with my Creator. I looked in a glass at 
myself. There I saw a shrinking, shriveling coward, afraid to 
acknowledge his Creator, God, and to love his Saviour Jesus 
Christ. I saw. this frail craft of humanity, tempest-tossed on 
dark waters, soon to be dashed against barren rocks and every 
hope to be shattered forever, and worst of all, I stood on the 
very brink of hell, soon to be plunged to its depths below. I 
awoke, found that life was not a dream, but tragedy in reality. 
What had been my idol sin lay shattered before my eyes in ten 
thousand pieces. I was and am saved. I saw the lighthouse 
by those bright shores. By the power of God you threw the 
lifeline, I grasped it, and am now landed at the feet of the lowly 
Nazarene. I will follow Him all the way from Galilee to Cal- 
vary. 

I cannot find words to thank you for the few short moments 
you spent with me. You cannot realize what you have done. 
Your prayers have bridged a great gulf that has separated man 
and wife. _ It wifi make in the future a happy home; it will 
make a wife that is prematurely old young. It is the regenera- 
tion of me and my whole house. 

I am happy, and may God bless you, will always be my prayer. 

I am sincerely yours. 



CHAPTER XI 
The Upward Climb 

A FTER the night of the barroom tragedy, Mrs. 
Bruce lay ill for several days. 

For a week Mr. Bruce scarcely left her side only 
for short intervals of rest when Mrs. Gray took up the 
vigil. A sad and profitable time it proved to be. When 
her strength returned sufficiently, they talked calmly of 
their early years and their many mistakes, only that 
henceforth they might avoid the pitfalls set for the un- 
wary, and a deep peace filled their souls. They had 
fallen together, they had suffered together, and now, by 
the grace of God, they would rise together. Surely the 
Father was tenderly watching over them to have pre- 
served them during those awful years, and to have res- 
cued them both from the very jaws of horrible deaths, so 
henceforth to Him their lives belonged. They would 
help in the mission and perhaps save a few from the 
agony and despair so well known to them. 

Mr. Bruce would depend on odd jobs of work no 
longer for their livelihood, but with all his might would 
seek permanent employment. If he succeeded, he 
would return to Mrs. Gray the money of Dr. Dale’s 
that she had expended for them. 

On the very first morning that Marjorie felt strong 
69 


70 


Burton Street Folks 


enough to be gotten up for the day, Mr, Bruce de- 
termined to face the world once more in earnest. 

Billy, whistling, with his hands in his pockets and 
his cap on the back of his head, accompanied his father 
to the car line. 

“Here, laddie,” he said, tossing him a coin just as 
his car came swinging around the corner, “spend this 
today exactly as you like.” 

“Gee! Dad’s a trump!” he exclaimed and away he 
ran. 

The father a few moments later was thinking that 
the boy’s pleasure would far more than compensate 
for the giving up of his own luncheon, which he would 
now have to do, and was wondering if for their sakes 
he could possibly carry out his two well-defined plans 
for the day. He wished he were not so foolishly 
proud. But rise he must, and rise he would regard- 
less of cost to himself. He would begin where he 
made that cruel mistake in his early young manhood. 
On he rode for some distance, till he reached the old- 
est residence section of the city. Alighting and walk- 
ing down an avenue, he came to an aristocratic old 
stone house which had stood for years. The extensive 
grounds surrounding it were well kept. The over- 
hanging boughs of the towering trees met in cool, green, 
inviting archways over the winding walks and drives, 
while flowers made the air heavy with their fragrance, 
and vines were running in the greatest of profusion over 
the porches. A fountain near the entrance of the 
mansion was sending its sparkling spray aloft from the 
hand of the sculptured maid, and then falling in gentle 
showers over a mass of water lilies and ferns. The 
whole unmodernized scene was beautiful, involuntarily 
carrying the spectator back a generation. 

Mr. Bruce lingered for several minutes along the 


The Upward Climb 


71 


walk, being too weak from nervousness and dread to 
do otherwise. Presently he wandered over a slope to 
a secluded spot shaded by a gnarled old oak, the 
monarch of the estate. 

“This,” he mused, sitting down on the grass, “is 
where we stood when Marjorie, a frightened, tearful 
child of eighteen, told me that she would be my wife, 
even to the giving up of father, mother and home. I 
ought not to have allowed such a sacrifice, but then I 
had so much confidence in myself, feeling sure that I 
could bring about a reconciliation, and that all would 
be well. ,, 

His melancholy retrospection ran on till he almost 
forgot the present, or why he was there at all. Finally, 
with a start he jumped to his feet, clasping with his 
hands his aching head, fearing that already he had 
lingered too long. Resolutely now he ascended the 
broad steps and rang the bell. 

Old Ben, who had been born a slave in the judge’s 
southern boyhood home and who had come north with 
“de young mas’r,” serving the Sommerville family most 
faithfully all his life, met Mr. Bruce at the door, and 
instantly recognized him. 

“Mas’r Lawrence, Mas’r Lawrence!” he exclaimed in 
his delight, for Uncle Ben had never ceased mourning 
“fo’ de young folks.” 

At a silencing gesture from Mr. Bruce, he did not 
speak again aloud, but his emotion was almost uncon- 
trollable. 

“Uncle Ben, is Judge Sommerville in?” 

An affirming nod of the woolly head was given in 
answer, “and so’s de missis,” he added significantly. 

“No,” almost sternly in his earnestness, “she must 
not know I am here. My effort may fail, and she need 
not be unnecessarily agitated.” 


72 


Burton Street Folks 


“As de mas’r says, but she’s sure mournin’ her life 
away. How is de young missis, Mas’r Lawrence, fo’ 
Uncle Ben’s ol’ heart am hungry too ?” 

“She is happy, but I must see her father without de- 
lay. Remember you are not to tell.” 

“Yes, sah,” knocking on the library door. 

“What is wanted?” rather crustily called the judge, 
being annoyed at the interruption. 

“A gemmin wishes to see you, sah, Mas’r Sommer- 
ville.” 

“Very well, bring him in.” 

Lawrence Bruce was calm now that the crucial mo- 
ment had come, and he faced the judge without a 
tremor. 

Judge Sommerville was a superior man, which fact 
he well knew. Wealthy, dignified, scholarly, polished, he 
was the embodiment of that style of haughty gentlemen 
that involuntarily calls forth from the average person 
a feeling both of respect and fear. 

At a glance Lawrence saw that he had greatly aged, 
his hair being white, though he was not much over 
sixty. He was slightly stooped, and his hand, on which 
sparkled a splendid diamond, trembled as he laid 
down his book and adjusted his eyeglasses preparatory 
to meeting his guest. 

Lawrence did not speak, but only bowed as the judge 
looked up. For a moment the latter failed to recog- 
nize the tall, haggard, neatly though plainly dressed 
man at his side, then an expression of unutterable sur- 
prise crossed his face. 

“Lawrence Bruce,” in the tone he had used one other 
time, “you are unwelcome. From your appearance, I 
presume you are after money. I have none for you, 
for your wife, nor for your son, who is a thief. Be 
gone, and as I bade you once before, never have the 


The Upward Climb 73 

audacity again to darken my door with your insolent 
presence.” 

“ Judge Sommerville, ,, and for the first time in his 
life the judge actually cowered before Lawrence Bruce 
whose indignation was roused to the highest pitch, “I 
obey, but first let me say that I never have asked you 
for money and I never will. I can support my own 
family. If you were not an old gentleman, the father 
of my wife, and if my son did not bear your name, 
William Sommerville, I would knock you down for call- 
ing him a thief.” 

The judge was surprised and knew that he was tread- 
ing dangerous ground. 

“Very well, then, not a thief, but because of a 
drunken father only took the bread to prevent starva- 
tion.” 

“That is true,” answered Lawrence simply. “The 
worst that you can say about me is too good, but in- 
sinuations against my family I cannot and will not 
stand. May I ask how you have any definite knowl- 
edge of my son?” 

“I presided at his trial last winter and freed him. I 
discovered his identity through an uncouth, half-crazy 
old creature, who volunteered more information than 
I wanted.” 

Lawrence’s eyes flashed rather ominously, but he only 
said, “I thank you for freeing the child.” 

The judge tried to look indifferent, while Lawrence 
continued : 

“I did wrong, and it was through me alone that your 
daughter fell. I came here to tell you so, hoping to 
find you at heart the gentleman you are on the ex- 
terior, but I am disappointed. Your daughter is a 
reclaimed and Christian woman to whom through God 
I owe my life, and I too am a Christian man beginning 
all over again. 


74 


Burton Street Folks 


“I could not be satisfied till I came here to acknowl- 
edge my wrong, and if possible to find a welcome for 
my wife, and for no other reason. I now withdraw, 
and the next time I come, it will be on your invitation/’ 

“To preclude disappointment, do not expect it this 
week.” 

Lawrence hastily made his way to the hall, fearing 
that he could suppress his anger no longer, and the 
judge too was losing all control of himself. As he 
passed through the door, Mrs. Sommerville, a small, 
dainty woman, prematurely old, with restless dark eyes 
and sunken cheeks, clad in a pretty morning gown of 
lavender scented with violets, was about to ascend the 
stairs. 

Lawrence hastily retreated, but not before he was 
seen and recognized. 

“Oh, Lawrence,” she screamed, “I have been looking 
for you for so many long years! Why, oh why, have 

you not come before? Where in this great city have 

you and my darling been burying yourselves? I want 

you and my Marjorie back, no difference what you 

have done. 

“There, there, little mother,” Lawrence said sooth- 
ingly, taking her hand in his, “you have lifted from my 
heart an awful burden. You at least have forgiven 
us — ” 

“I never blamed you, and I tried to keep father from 
being so severe.” 

“Is she well — my baby?” 

“Yes, or rather is recovering from an illness.” 

“Will you go and get her and bring her back to 
stay?” 

“Impossible, dearest mother, under present circum- 
stances. This welcome from you is an unspeakable 
benediction, but,” gently pushing her from him, “I must 
go.” 


The Upward Climb 


75 


“And remember/’ called the judge, in his iciest tones, 
“you are not to return; my will is unalterable.” 

“Lawrence,” pleaded Mrs. Sommerville, heedless of 
her husband, “didn’t Marjorie send some word to 
mother — just some little word?” 

“She does not know that I am here. I cannot break 
her heart afresh by telling her of this venture.” 

“You won’t tell her that mother loves her still?” 

“How can I without adding that her father hates her 
still?” 

Mrs. Sommerville looked at him intently for a mom- 
ent, staggered, and then fell fainting into her husband’s 
arms. 

“Lawrence Bruce, be gone!” shouted the judge, now 
utterly unmindful of his usually studied dignity. “You 
have stolen from me my daughter, and aught I know 
have now killed my wife.” 

Until the afternoon Lawrence sat in seclusion under 
the oak, too dazed to have any particular feeling, and 
scarcely knowing whether he was awake or dreaming. 
He was not surprised — nothing could surprise him — 
when Uncle Ben appeared, setting down by his side a 
tray of luncheon. 

“Mas’r Lawrence, fo’give me, but I watched and knew 
whar you was. You must eat, you sure must, or you’ll 
be sick.” 

Mechanically, to please the good old darkey, he obeyed, 
and felt much the stronger for it. 

“How is your mistress, Uncle Ben?” presently he 
asked, handing him the tray and rising to leave. 

“Bettah, sah, bettah, but crying like her heart am 
’most broke.” 

“Now, Uncle Ben, I am going away. I know I can 
trust you, so I shall tell you our address; it is 115 
Burton street, but you must not come there, nor must 
you follow me now.” 


76 


Burton Street Folks 


“Yes, sah, you can trust me, and de Lawd bless you 
and de young missis, 1 ” turning away and wiping from 
his dusky cheeks the falling tears. 

It was a thoroughly selfpossessed-looking man who 
an hour or two later stepped into the private office of 
Richard Connard, sole proprietor of a mammoth depart- 
ment store. Mr. Connard was a man of substantial 
girth, with a bright smile and a cheery word for all, and 
his pleasing personality together with his sterling quali- 
ties made him a great favorite in business and social 
circles. 

The door was scarcely closed behind Lawrence, be- 
fore Connard had him by the hand. 

“Lawrence, old fellow,” he exclaimed, “this is an un- 
expected pleasure. I have longed increasingly for your 
return. I want you.” 

Sympathy ! This unnerved Lawrence Bruce. He 
could face Judge Sommerville without flinching, but not 
Richard Connard. This portly proprietor, suddenly re- 
membering that he was neglecting some important desk 
work, sat down and wrote vigorously for some minutes, 
and then without looking up into the face he knew must 
be agitated, said: “It is fortunate in the extreme that 
you have come, Bruce. Dependable fellows are hard to 
find. One of my best second-floor clerks leaves next 
week, and I have been wondering what to do about it. 
It will be an accommodation to me if you can fill the 
vacancy, till I have something better for you.” 

“Mr. Connard—” 

“No, Lawrence, not 'Mister.’ Call me Richard, Dick, 
or anything you like, only not ‘Mister.’ We meet as 
we parted, friends and equals, with no formality between 
us.” 

“Oh, Richard, this is more than I can bear, but let 
me tell you I have forfeited the privilege of being your 
friend.” 


The Upward Climb 


77 


“No, you haven’t. You are the same old chap to 
me, and I want to be to you. I have looked for you 
so long, and many times I have been on the point of 
sending you a message, but thought it best not to. I 
was sure you would come to your senses. You know 
the day of your discharge (that hurt me worse than it 
did you, Lawrence) that I told you to come back when 
ever you were ready to be a man. I have been expect- 
ing you ever since. I need you. Will you accept this 
position ?” 

“Richard, how can I thank you? Accept it? Of 
course I will, and if I could only tell you the good — ” 

“I understand; that’s all right, but let’s not talk 
about it. And, do forgive me, here is an advance 
check on your first month’s salary; you know my clerks 
must dress well. I am busier than usual right now and 
cannot spare the time for the visit I am hungry to have. 
But you report here at my office one week from this 
morning. Mighty glad you came, old fellow, mighty 
glad ; it seems like the days of ‘auld lang syne.’ ” 



CHAPTER XII 
The Slippery Way 

O N his way to the tailor’s Mr. Bruce seemed to be 
walking on air. 

“I thought,” he mused, “that sympathy among 
the rich was dead and buried with honors long ago, but. 
if so, it is reincarnated in dear Connard. I’ll do my 
best, my very best for him, and how glad Marjorie 
will be ! Oh, it seems good to be a man among men 
again 1” 

Night was falling before he alighted from his car at 
O’Conner’s corner. He was tired and his head was- 
aching most painfully. He had nearly forgotten his 
elation over his victory of the afternoon, thinking of 
his ignominious defeat of the morning. It would crush 
Marjorie if she knew! 

“Oh, Bruce,” called O’Conner. “Come here. Mrs. 
Gray tells me that you have enlisted under her end of 
the sign, and I must congratulate you. Just step in.” 
“No, not this evening, O’Conner.” 

“I’m surprised, for I supposed you’d be talking reli- 
gion and nothing else, and especially if a fellow asked 
you to. I am interested, I really am.” 

“If that is it, I’ll tarry for a moment certainly.” 
Passing into the saloon, O’Conner deliberately took 
78 


The Slippery Way 


79 


a drink, offering one at the same time to Mr. Bruce, pur- 
posely spilling some to make the odor as strong as 
possible. 

“Don’t tempt me,” pitiously pleaded Mr. Bruce, as he 
felt his old appetite overcoming him. He weakly stag- 
gered for the door, but O’Conner intercepted him, and — 
well, one drink after another was the result. 

The next that he clearly realized, he was at home 
in bed with Marjorie sitting by his side and Mrs. Gray 
bustling around “reddin’ things up.” 

“Never mind, dear,” said Marjorie, as she thought he 
was about to make some explanation, “I know how it 
happened. I became so frightened about you last night, 
that Mrs. Gray went to the saloon and found you, and 
was told by several there of O’Conner’s base trick. 
She had you brought home in an ambulance.” 

“I remember now, but it is as a horrible dream. 

He groaned and then soon fell asleep, not wakening 
again till the last rays of the setting sun were shedding 
their mellow light through the room, bringing out in 
bold relief the pallor of his emaciated and pensive face. 

“Mrs. Gray,” presently he said, in a feeble voice, 
“bring your chair to my side and tell me whether there 
is any use for me to try again or not.” 

“I guess there ain’t, Mr. Bruce.” 

“O God,” he moaned, “is the battle lost forever this 
time, and is there truly no hope, just as I thought I 
was getting a new start in life?” 

“No, no, Mr. Bruce, the battle ain’t lost, and there 
is hope, glory!” 

“But I thought you said that there is no more use 
for me to try.” 

“I did say it and mean it.” 

“I do not understand.” 

“Well, it’s just this way: I heard Preacher Fairfax 
say once that when Esther was a wee, toddlin’ girl that 


80 


Burton Street Folks 


he took her out for a walk one day when it was all 
slippery and risky. 

“ ‘Let papa take your hand, little one/ he coaxed, ‘so 
you won’t fall and get hurt.’ 

“ ‘Oh, no. I can walk alone,’ and away she started, 
but her baby feet flew out from under her and down 
she come. Her pride was hurt some, but she wasn’t 
ready yet to be helped. Soon she fell ag’in, then she 
asked her father to let her take hold of just his little 
finger. He done as she said, and for a time all went 
well. But by and by they come to a real bad treach- 
erous place, she lost her hold and down she went, 
bruisin’ her soft, tender flesh. That time, with tears 
in her eyes, she looked straight up into his face and 
told him she was ready then for him to take her whole 
hand in his. 

“Ain’t you like Esther been tryin’ to walk alone, 
Mr. Bruce, thinkin’ you was pretty strong? I guess 
when the Father told you to let Him have your hand, 
you must have thought the same as Esther, even if 
you didn’t say it in so many words, that you was 
strong enough to walk alone, or at least, so to speak, 
by holdin’ on to His little finger. But you lost your 
hold, didn’t you? What you need now is to have 
the Father take your whole hand right in His.” 

“Perhaps I did forget, perhaps I did, for I thought 
my danger in that direction forever past. Like Esther, 
though, I slipped and fell when least expecting it. I am 
so tired and have no faith at all left in myself. I want 
the Father to lead me safely on. Do you think He 
will?” 

“Ah, that He will, that He will, and more, too ! When 
Preacher Fairfax and Esther was takin’ that walk, they 
come to another place that was dangerous for the little 
feet, even if her father did have her hand in his. What 


The Slippery Way 


81 


she needed was to be carried, and she asked him to do 
it. So he lifted this motherless lamb of his up into his 
bosom and carried her safe across. Do you s’pose she 
was thinkin’ all the time of the slippery way and the 
danger of the path? Of course not. She wasn’t 
thinkin’ of her danger at all, but of her father and her 
safety. 

“And now, Mr. Bruce, you’re a man, but you ain’t 
been a Christian long, so you are just one of the 
Father’s tired-out, frightened lambs, don’t you see? 
There is such a beautiful verse for you, I must read 
it: 'He shall gather the lambs with His arm, and carry 
them in His bosom.’ Don’t that comfort you a bit? 
Quit thinkin’ now about your fall and the dangerous, 
slippery way, but think instead of the Father, layin’ 
your poor head down on His shoulder and trustin’ 
Him to get you safe home, just as Esther did her 
father.” 

“Mrs. Gray, that is beautiful and so restful,” he 
almost whispered, and then weary, frightened child 
that he was, wept for some time, scarcely knowing 
whether for sorrow or for joy. 

“I begin to see my mistake now,” at last he said. 
“I do not have to trust my own strength any more 
than did Esther, do I?” 

“No, Mr. Bruce, glory! The Lord knew none of 
us could ever get home alone, for the way is hard and 
slippery for the best of us. There’s another verse that 
says: 'Now unto Him that is able to keep you from 
falling / ” 

“When Esther had that little fall, it didn’t hurt her 
half as much as it did her father. He just felt so 
sorry that his baby must suffer for her disobedience. 
But the very minute she was willin’ for him to help 
her, she didn’t have to tease one bit. And, Mr. Bruce, 


82 


Burton Street Folks 


you feel awful bad about your fall, but remember your 
Father feels worse. He wants to help you. Have you 
asked Him to?” 

“Yes, many times.” 

“And told Him you are sorry you didn’t let Him 
hold your hand in His?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then it’s all right, for He says, Tf we confess our 
sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins.’ ” 

“Oh, what a tender, loving Father, Mrs. Gray!” 

“Yes, ain’t He? If anything, Preacher Fairfax 
loved Esther a tiny bit more after her fall and her 
cornin’ to him for help without any faith at all left 
in herself, than he did before, and so it is with your 
Father. He never loved you more ’n He does this 
very minute, remember that, and after this turn to Him 
for the help He wanted to give you this time.” 

“Ah, yes, by His grace I will. I do not want ever 
again to take even one little step alone, for the way is 
very, very rough and slippery.” And, he added with a 
smile, sinking wearily back upon his pillow, “ ‘He shall 
gather the lambs in His arm, and carry them in His 
bosom.’ ” 



CHAPTER XIII 
The Hero’s Part 

O N the appointed morning Mr. Bruce, a sad-hearted, 
sad-countenanced man, appeared at the private 
office of Richard Connard. 

“Good morning, Lawrence,” said the latter cordially, 
“it seems like old times, I must say, for you to be re- 
porting here for business. But I fear you are not 
quite well. What is the matter?” 

“Richard, oh, Richard,” he replied brokenly, and sank 
wearily into a chair. “Will you believe it when I 
tell you that I was beastly drunk again before reaching 
home the other day? I am not reporting here for work 
as you think, but to resign, only I’ll run errands, in 
fact I’ll do anything till these clothes are paid for. It’s 
awful — Connard, it is awful to meet defeat in the very 
face of victory!” 

“Well, Bruce,” said Mr. Connard with forced severity, 
“I never before thought you a coward.” 

“Coward ! You don’t know my battles.” 

“Yes, coward, Bruce. If you expect to live the rest 
of your life without meeting temptation, let me tell 
you right now that you are indulging a false hope. It 
will come, now suddenly and fiercely, now slowly and 
subtly, but it will come, depend upon that. The greater 
83 


84 


Burton Street Folks 


the temptation met and conquered, the stronger the 
character becomes. But too, we rise by our victories 
no more truly than by our failures, if we will it so. 
You say you have met defeat in the face of victory, 
and you have, if you view it in that light. But I say 
you have the opportunity of becoming a man of in- 
vincible worth. 

“There is hope for one who sees his danger and who 
fights as you have fought. Yes, yes, your way is hard, 
but others have battles too, and many harder than yours 
— harder because of the nature of them. Some things, 
you know, cannot be told even to the nearest friend, 
and it is hidden temptation and the hidden sorrow that 
saps the vitality the quickest. Brace up, my boy; the 
sun is always shining somewhere, even though it may 
be hard to believe it on a dark and cloudy night. I 
trust you, Lawrence, whether you trust yourself or not, 
and want you with me again. You, though five years 
my junior, were the chosen companion of my young 
manhood, and no other has ever taken in my heart 
the place you hold. Now the question is this: Are 
you going to choose the hero’s part, or the coward’s 
part, throwing away your last opportunity for advance- 
ment all because of one little temptation suddenly yielded 
to? The position for which there are now several ap- 
plicants is still open. Will you take it?” 

“Yes, I will,” he answered emphatically, a new light 
in his eye. “By God’s help and the help of a friend, 
I now choose the hero’s part. I had not thought of it 
before that by conquering myself I may become a 
stronger man than ever. I will scale the heights if I 
fall fifty times in doing it. I am now ready to go to 
work.” 

“Good for you, old fellow, your answer contains the 
proper ring,” slapping him encouragingly on the shoul- 
der. 


The Hero’s Part 


85 


“It’s settled now, Lawrence. Do not talk of the past, 
nor think of it morbidly. Strengthen yourself by dwell- 
ing upon the victories you are going to win. 

“By the way, changing the subject, I wish you would 
send word to Mrs. Bruce that you have an engagement 
with me this evening. I want you to go with me to 
dinner.” 

“Thank you, but I have a previous engagement which 
I cannot break. It is with Dr. Dale.” 

“Dr. Dale! Dr. LeRoy Dale?” 

“Yes, do you know him?” 

“I rather think I do. We have been in the same 
club now for six years. But what about this anyhow? 
For a few months past he has seemed like another man, 
and a very uncertain quantity, always pleading more 
important engagements and the like. 

“May I inquire as to the nature of your engagement 
with him?” 

“To be sure. Dr. Dale has opened and personally 
superintends a mission on Burton street for the reclaim- 
ation of such as I. Mrs. Bruce and I are to sing for 
him, and I am to make a very short gospel talk, my 
first effort along that line.” 

“Great Scott !” and his evident surprise was so comical 
that Mr. Bruce laughed more heartily than he had be- 
fore in months. 

“Can’t you believe it, Connard?” 

“Scarcely. Do enlighten me.” 

“Perhaps the love of God has something to do with 
it.” 

“That may be, that may be,” he answered slowly 
and with an air of abstraction. 

“But say, Lawrence,” he added playfully, looking at 
his watch, “if you don’t get to work, I’ll have to dock 
you on your first day’s time. Remember you are to 
begin your upward climb with a will, my boy, and are 


86 


Burton Street Folks 


not to let an occasional slip discourage you, much less 
weaken your determination to scale the heights. Don’t 
forget that Richard Connard is your friend now just 
as much as he was in the old palmy days, and that your 
interests are his.” 

The two men warmly clasped hands, then the office 
door clicked, leaving one on the inside thinking, “Dear, 
brave Bruce, he will win out yet,” and the other on 
the outside, “Dear, noble Connard, was there ever a 
friend more true?” 

Something over two years had rolled around. The 
last mellow days of autumn were hovering over the 
earth, as though summer were loth to say goodbye. 

Lawrence Bruce had been steadily advanced. He had 
thrown himself into business and the work of the mis- 
sion with such vigor and constant application, that there 
was not much time for the tempter to assail him. He 
was not depending upon his own strength for safety, 
oh, no, for too well he knew the unstability of that. 
Every morning he asked the Father just to hold his 
hand for that one day. The friendship between him 
and Richard Connard had ripened into the love of 
brothers. When his days of depression were upon him, 
or the demon of thirst was weakening the expression 
of determination on his well-chiseled face, it was 
Richard who would slip quietly by and say, “The hero’s' 
part, my boy,” or tell some capital story till Lawrence 
was laughing heartily. It was a part of Mr. Connard’s 
creed that a man is comparatively safe, so long as he 
can laugh with a pure, true ring. 

About three months after entering Mr. Connard’s 
service, for a few days Lawrence had been unusually 
nervous and pensively inclined. Richard was uneasy 
and managed to watch him closely. Late one afternoon 
believing himself unobserved, Lawrence slipped out, and 


The Hero’s Part 


87 


just as he was entering a saloon, a firm hand was laid 
upon his shoulder. No word of reproof was spoken by 
the one, nor of explanation by the other. Mr. Con- 
nard summoned a carriage and a long drive was taken 
through the parks, he, so he assured Lawrence, feeling 
the need of a little rest. That night he could not sleep, 
and the next morning Lawrence was called to the 
private office. 

“Lawrence,” he said, “I am working too hard. What’s 
the use of it all ? Iam going on a week’s hunt down in 
the country to see if that won’t make me eat and sleep 
better. A vacation alone is worse than none. You 
must go with me, and we shall rough it in typical 
Indian style.” 

Ten days later the two men returned to the city as 
gay and frolicsome as boys, and thereafter Lawrence 
made steady gain. The upward climb was not easy 
at all times, but then anything easy of attainment is 
not often worth the effort. 

Lawrence was now in a financial position to move his 
family to a more respectable section of the city, and it 
was his purpose to do so, as soon as a suitable location 
could be secured. 

It hurt him to think of the pain it would cause faith- 
ful Mrs. Gray to give up Billy, but with smiles through 
her tears she had said to go. “That there child,” she 
assured him, “don’t belong to the likes of us here on 
Burton street.” 

“Wherever our future lot shall be cast, Mrs. Gray,” 
Mr. Bruce had told her, “our home is yours when old 
age or infirmities compel you to give up your noble 
work. I shall never forget the part you have had in 
our salvation, both for this life and the next.” 

The morning was hazy, warm and beautiful, without 
a hint of summer’s withering heat or winter’s stinging 
cold, but Lawrence was unmindful of it all and in per- 


88 


Burton Street Folks 


plexity sought the privacy of his employer’s office. 
When that door closed, shutting them in from the outer 
world, the formality they maintained in the presence 
of the small army of Mr. Connard’s employes was laid 
aside, and they met as the dearest of friends. 

“What’s in the wind now, Lawrence?” he asked, still 
busily writing away at his desk and without looking up. 

“I’ve been offered another position, that’s all.” 

“What?” wheeling around in his chair to face the 
speaker. 

“Oh, just been offered another position.” 

“But I have you fast. You signed a two-year con- 
tract with me only yesterday.” 

“So I told Dr. Dale.” 

“Dr. Dale again, is it; now what?” 

He is planning to enlarge the work of the mission, 
and wants me to become the superintendent, devoting 
to it all my time, on a living salary, of course.” 

“But with no opportunity for promotion, and see 
what you have before you here, Lawrence. But con- 
found Dr. Dale anyhow! It would take about two of 
him to make a man of my dimensions, but he succeeds 
in keeping things well stirred up wherever he happens 
to be. You aren’t in here to tell me you want to 
accept, are you?” 

“No, I am not, but some way it troubles me. For so 
long you have taught me to choose the hero’s part, that 
I cannot throw this lightly aside. To be sure, I can- 
not accept without your sanction, I understand that, for 
the contract is signed. Suppose that the contract did 
not exist, what then ought I to do?” 

“But it does exist, thank goodness! I have talked 
to Dr. Dale several times about this Burton street en- 
terprise of his, but he’s such a crank — says he’d rather 
give up the practicing of his profession than that mis- 
sion. And, Lawrence, he tells me too, that you are 


The Hero’s Part 


89 


developing power in handling and winning the outcast. 
He thinks you really are remarkable. What about it? 
Do you enjoy working with people of that repulsive 
class?” 

“Yes, I do, for who knows better than I their needs?”. 

“Forgive me, I didn’t think. You always belonged; 
where you are now though, but strayed away, that is 
all. And where there is one like you there are thou- 
sands of the other kind.” 

“Then you believe in letting the thousands go, do 
you ?” 

“Oh, no, not just that, but you are fitted for other 
things. Let some one less talented than you do the 
slum work.” 

“But it takes brains and money along with love to 
God and fellowmen to run a mission successfully, Rich- 
ard. If you would only take an evening off and give 
us a call, you would know more about it.” 

“That’s so, but if you do not want to accept the 
worthy doctor’s proposition, what’s the use of talking 
about it?” 

“I hardly know, only because it is natural to come 
to you with every thing. Of course I am not consider- 
ing it seriously for a moment. My first duty is to my 
family. So many of my money-making years have 
been wasted, that I must exert every effort now to 
lay up a competency for Mrs. Bruce and the boy.” 

“Of course,” bringing his fist down upon his desk 
with a thud, “you must make your family first. I’ll 
tell Dr. Dale to have the goodness to let you alone, and, 
incidentally, to quit meddling with my affairs. But then 
the contract is binding. For the novelty of it, I believe 
I’ll attend the mission this evening, then that will give 
me an opportunity to have it out with the doctor. 

“You are wise to stick to your post, Lawrence. Don’t 
get worried now and carry this hero business too far. 


90 


Burton Street Folks 


I’m glad we fixed up our contract yesterday, for it 
will make it easier to get around the doctor. He is not 
noted for changing his mind when once it is made up. 
It will be unalloyed pleasure for me to give him the 
shocking surprise of finding out that there is at least 
one man in the world he cannot manage/’ 



CHAPTER XIV 
Life’s Investment 

T HERE was a decided stir in Hope Mission that 
evening when a stately stranger of faultless ap- 
pearance walked in, and sat down near the front. 
During the opening songs Mr. Connard interested him- 
self by conjecturing as to the probable past of the poor 
wretches about him, but soon he forgot all in listening 
to Lawrence. 

What was he saying? It was only a commonplace 
remark, in fact almost hackneyed, — that God hates the 
sin but loves the sinner to the point of sending His 
only Son to die. “For God so loved the world, that 
He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever be- 
lieveth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting 
life.” Mr. Connard remembered that on the previous 
Sunday his pastor had said practically the same thing, 
clinching his statement also with that very familiar 
quotation from the Gospel of John. It had had no ef- 
fect on him then, nor had the whole sermon for that 
matter. Was it the slight tremor in Lawrence’s voice 
that seemed to thrill him through and through with the 
thought of God’s matchless love? Probably, together 
with his tremendous earnestness. Lawrence had more 
than simply an intellectual belief in what he was saying, 
91 


92 


Burton Street Folks 


and real conviction on the part of a speaker always 
makes a difference. And then too his left-hand neigh- 
bor was weeping and half mumbling to himself : “If 
what he says is true, it’s enough to put some heart into 
a fellow again. It must be. If not, how account for 
Bruce? I’ve seen him lying in the gutter drunk many 
a time, and just look at him now. Yes, Jesus has the 
power.” 

“It is all wonderful, God’s love plan,” soliloquized the 
listener, “but some way I never realized it much be- 
fore. Nothing of merely human origin could make a 
man like Dr. Dale, for instance, work with men of this 
class. The secret must be his love for souls for whom 
Christ died.” 

Mr. Connard had intended to listen intently to every 
word the speaker might utter, for a Gospel talk from 
Lawrence was a decided novelty. Much had been lost, 
however, because of the train of thought aroused by 
his first utterance in regard to God’s love. Now some- 
thing else was being said that found lodgment in his 
mind, quite erratic this evening. 

“Be careful in the investment of your lives. There 
is so much in the world from which to choose. Seek 
not the good, but the best.” 

“New thoughts those to me — putting out one’s life 
at interest, and letting the good alone for the best. I 
wonder if my life’s investment is good? — the first 
twenty-one years put into education. Yes, that is all 
right, and I believe might properly be entered in the 
'best’ column; the last eighteen into dollars, adding to 
what I inherited from my father. Good? Yes, for I 
have been honest, my yardstick being strictly thirty- 
six inches long. Best? I — I’ll have to think about it. 
What was that Lawrence said the other day about dol- 
lars for dollars’ sake and dollars for others’ sake?” He 
couldn’t remember, for Lawrence was always getting off 
something, and so his thoughts wandered on. 


Life’s Investment 


93 


One verse of “Rescue the Perishing” had been con- 
cluded before Mr. Connard was thoroughly aware that 
singing was going on. Then his left-hand neighbor 
tapped him lightly on the shoulder, crowding by and 
going up to the altar, weeping. 

“Is he in earnest, Lawrence?” asked Mr. Connard 
some time later, as they together with the doctor sat 
down for a chat after every one else had left. 

“Is who in earnest, Richard?” 

“Why, the man who sat by me.” 

“Yes, very much in earnest. He has not always 
been so low, but it is the old story, drink, you know.” 

“So I imagined. Does he need work?” 

“Yes, poor fellow, he does.” 

“Have you his address?” 

“Yes.” 

“Send him around. We shall see what can be done.” 

“Mr. Connard,” it was Dr. Dale who spoke, “I am 
especially desirous of being practical in this work. The 
spiritual part takes the preeminence of course. But I 
should like to establish a regular employment agency, 
open a reading room and gymnasium, and have clubs of 
various kinds organized for the betterment of these 
neglected people. Mr. Bruce is the man to put at the 
head of affairs.” 

“Excellent idea! I’ll double the salary, Doctor, and 
put in dollar for dollar for the extension of the work, 
or that is, I mean I would, if it was not for the con- 
tract. Mr. Bruce belongs to me now for two years, 
and I cannot let him go. Then too, he must lay up a 
competency for his family, which he’d not be likely to 
do by giving up his present business. One’s own family 
first. Do not ask him to do what you yourself would 
not.” 

“Very well, Mr. Connard,” answered the doctor smil- 
ing peculiarly, “the matter of a superintendent does not 


94 


Burton Street Folks 


have to be decided immediately. Several are sharing 
with me the burden of this work, and we can continue 
yet a little longer as we are, if we must. 

“I see my carriage has come, so perhaps we’d better 
go. I shall have to lock up tonight, for my right-hand 
man, or rather in this case woman, could not stay.” 

As the three men stepped through the door, a horrible 
scream issued from the saloon. 

“Help ! Save me ! I’m being murdered !” 

Recognizing the voice as being O’Conner’s, Mr. Bruce 
without a moment’s hesitation dashed in, closely fol- 
lowed by his friends. 

There upon the floor lay the saloon-keeper with a 
drunken fiend on top of him, brandishing a heavy knife 
in mid-air, and with which he had made a number of 
cruel gashes about the head. 

Realizing that with about one more plunge the victim 
would be killed, Mr. Bruce, regardless of his own dan- 
ger, pushed the would-be murderer aside. The in- 
furiated wretch with almost incredible rapidity then 
turned upon Mr. Bruce, burying the knife deeply in the 
right arm raised in self-defense. With a yell of triumph 
he now aimed for the heart, but in another instant was 
writhing upon the floor, Dr. Dale having put into exe- 
cution an athletic trick of his college days. The 
astonished spectators obeyed the doctor as soldiers would 
a general, some guarding the prisoner, while others 
summoned the patrol and ambulance. Mr. Connard 
bound up Mr. Bruce’s arm with handkerchiefs as well 
as his trembling hands would permit, and the doctor en- 
deavored to assuage the flow of blood from O’Conner’s 
face and neck. The whole scene was over in a few 
minutes, policemen having looked after their share of 
the prey, and O’Conner having been taken to the 
emergency hospital, the three men following in the doc- 
tor’s carriage. 


Life’s Investment 


95 


Dr. Dale was well acquainted with the hospital staff. 
Explanations were speedily made, O’Conner properly 
looked after, and the doctor proceeded to dress Mr. 
Bruce’s arm. The gash was long, making it necessary 
to take several stitches. 

“Does it hurt much, Lawrence?” asked Mr. Connard 
who had been silently but nervously watching the proc- 
ess.” 

“Not unbearably.” 

“You certainly chose the hero’s part this time, my 
boy, but, oh, if that villain had killed you! I am more 
glad than ever now about the contract, for I cannot have 
you risking your life in this kind of style.” 

The patient was weak and in pain, and Mr. Connard 
excited. 

“Doctor,” he asked, “can’t you administer an anaes- 
thetic ?” 

“No, his heart will not permit of that.” 

“Then can’t you use one locally?” 

“I’ll do all I dare to keep him from suffering.” 

“Was there disinfectant in the water in which you 
washed your hands, Doctor?” 

“Yes.” 

“Pardon me, but is that water you are using steril- 
ized?” 

“Yes.” 

“And the needle?” 

“Yes. If you will feel any better to have the patient 
himself disinfected, medicated and sterilized, I’ll turn 
him over to you and take notes on the process for the 
benefit of my profession at large.” 

“How facetiously inclined you are, Doctor. Does 
it go with your malady? I heard some time ago that 
you are growing childish over the mission and your fos- 
ter daughter.” 

“Indeed! Then I wish I had grown childish long 


96 


Burton Street Folks 


ago. But if I am making no mistake in my diagnosis, 
you have the malady in its incipiency yourself. It’s in- 
curable.” 

Only a part of the time did Mr. Bruce pay much heed 
to the good-natured bantering of his friends. He was 
thinking of that other barroom tragedy, and how thank- 
ful he was that Marjorie was not the victim this time. 
Why had God twice now spared him almost miraculously, 
and why was he developing so much power in winning 
the outcast to the right? Was God really calling him 
to give up the business he so much liked, and to the 
superintendency of the mission? Well, if so, He would 
make it plain, for Marjorie had said He would. 

“Will Mr. Bruce have to spend the night here, 
Doctor?” questioned Mr. Connard. 

“No, it is not necessary. We shall see him home, 
but first I must inquire about O’Conner.” 

Five minutes later he reported that the wounds were 
serious, but probably not fatal. 

Mr. Connard and the doctor accompanied Mr. Bruce 
to his now well-furnished rooms to explain the situation 
to Mrs. Bruce, and to assure her that there was no 
occasion for alarm. 

“Remember, Lawrence,” said Mr. Connard in leaving, 
“that you are not to report for work again till that arm 
is well.” 

The doctor and Mr. Connard had ridden for several 
blocks in silence. 

“Mr. Connard,” finally spoke the doctor, “that affair 
tonight unnerved me more than men of my profession 
are supposed to be unnerved. I indulged in far more 
jocularity than I felt, just to conceal from Mr. Bruce 
my real feeling.” 

“Yes, I understand. The same spirit took possession 
of me also.” 

“But noble, heroic Bruce,” said the doctor, “heroic 


Life’s Investment 97 

in more ways than one! He is a wonderful man. I 
believe God has spared him for a purpose.” 

“Do you think so? I presume you refer to the mis- 
sion?” 

“Yes.” 

* “I do not want to be a hindrance to anything that is 
right. We’ll see what develops from this night’s ex- 
perience, before making rash promises. 

“I wish I had a better investment for my own life, 
Doctor. Some way I am depressed, and my mode of 
living seems so empty. Now the good Bruce accom- 
plished just this one evening is worthy of a lifetime. 
But then he is so gifted and capable in many lines. Is 
there no one else you can get to take his place in the 
work ?” 

“Is there no one else you can get to take his place in 
your work?” 

“Emphatically no.” 

“Then it’s dollars against human lives and immortal 
souls, isn’t it? Either you or I shall have to give up. 
I’d not have a man at the head of this mission incapable 
of taking care of himself and not wanted anywhere 
else. Bruce is the man, and, Mr. Connard, I believe God 
is calling you to the work too.” 

“Calling me to the work? You are mistaken. Call- 
ing me to give up my business? If the life of every man 
in the city depended on it, I could not talk as Lawrence 
did this evening. Oh, no, God is not calling me. You 
certainly are very much mistaken for once, Doctor.” 

“Who said anything about your giving up your busi- 
ness, or making Gospel talks?” 

“I thought — but maybe I misunderstood you. In 
what sense do you consider me called? I’d like to do 
something yet, if I could, I really would; my life is so 
useless. Yours, for instance, is worth the living; you 
have a definite and unselfish aim. My religion up to 


98 


Burton Street Folks 


date has been of the selfish type, I fear. When I take 
time for an introspection of my heart, I find therein the 
peace of God from which I would not part for the world. 
But having no family of my own, it has never occurred 
to me that I owe any special duty to others. Tell me 
what you mean.” 

“You are particularly gifted as a business man, Mr. 
Connard, and can make more honest cash in a day than 
many in a year. God did not give you your talent to 
be wasted. Mr. Bruce has marked business ability too, 
I admit, but possesses a power over the fallen quite 
impossible for you or for me ever to acquire. Keeping 
him tied down to his present daily routine is good, but 
not his best, using his own idea. It is in the mission 
that he excels. To take you from your store and me 
from my office and place us permanently in the mission 
would hinder the development of our highest talents. 
God made you into a business man and me into a pro- 
fessional man. Let us stay where we belong, and at 
the same time not hinder Bruce from entering his par- 
ticular sphere. There is not another man in my ac- 
quaintance who can equal him in this work. 

“Some months ago a potent change came into my 
life, Mr. Connard. I just gave myself, my profession 
and all I am or have into the hands of God. Since then 
I have had my first real joy, and have gotten infinitely 
more pleasure out of money-making. I like it now 
better than ever before — not for the sake of the money 
itself, but for what I can do with it.” 

“Do you imply that you give it all away?” 

“Not by any means. I spend a great deal on my 
family, believing it to be my duty as a Christian man 
to support them according to the station they fill. The 
idea is this, Mr. Connard: Whether I am spending 
money on myself, my family, or others, I do it with 
a subconsciousness of God’s approval. But I am 


Life’s Investment 


99 


systematic in my benevolences, giving away a certain 
percentage of my income.” 

“Doctor, you surprise me. Consecration and common- 
sense can go hand in hand, can’t they?” 

“Yes, and when they do not, there is something lack- 
ing with the one or the other. It is a serious mistake to 
confuse consecration with fanaticism. I think you see 
now what I mean. God is calling you to His work in 
the sense that He is asking you henceforth to consecrate 
your life and business to Him. If, as you intimated this 
evening, you are willing to join forces with me in the 
development of the mission, see what it will mean. Mr. 
Bruce cannot exercise his best talent unless we do ours, 
thereby making it possible for us to supply him with 
the cash. It is business and religion, but the two united 
are one. God gave us common-sense and expects us to 
use it. As to his family, we can give him a good salary 
which he will earn, every penny of it. The only draw- 
back I see is that that boy of his must be gotten out 
of this section of the city. He cannot be neglected for 
the sake of some other man’s boy. It will make it a 
little harder for Mr. Bruce, but after all no one thinks 
anything of it for a man in purely secular business to 
live miles away.” 

“Dr. Dale,” and Mr. Connard spoke with much feel- 
ing, “your little talk has done me more good than all 
the sermons I ever heard in my life. It never occurred 
to me that my money-making ability is a direct gift 
from God. I’m going to make more than ever now 
if I can, but with a different object in view. I now 
understand you through and through, Doctor, but for 
months you have been, I must say, a complete enigma. 
I — I think — but, of course, I told you that the contract 
is signed. I’ll see what Mr. Bruce has to say. If he 
wants to do it, but then he doesn’t, perhaps I can ar- 
range some way to give him up. It would be hard, 


100 


Burton Street Folks 


though, very, very hard. You see Lawrence and his 
family are all I have in the world to love or to love me. 
Whatever is best for them I want done. But you know 
just as well as I do that, if they give themselves wholly 
to this work, they will save nothing from a salary if 
we should pay a thousand dollars a month. He and his 
wife are alike when it comes to a matter of this kind. 
And that boy of theirs, the brightest child I ever saw. 
His interests must not be overlooked. He must be 
educated and ought to have an inheritance, but, — well, 
of course, I’ll have to leave my money to some one. 

“Here’s my hotel, Doctor. I thank you. I must 
think this all out clearly before a definite decision is 
reached.” 

“Good night, Mr. Connard, I think you have now 
found your life’s investment and are starting a bank 
account in heaven.” 

“Good night, and I thank you once more.” 



CHAPTER XV 
Decision 

T HE third morning after the tragedy Mr. Con- 
nard called for Mr. Bruce, taking him to the hos- 
pital to inquire after O’Conner. 

“Oh, yes, he is very ill,” replied the nurse in answer 
to Mr. Bruce’s question, “but we are hopeful. From 
what I heard of the affair he came nearly being mur- 
dered, but in his attacks of delirium he imagines that he 
himself is the murderer, trying to kill some one with a 
bottle. And then he says over and over, T wish I 
hadn’t, I wish I hadn’t.’ Sometimes I think maybe 
there is a chapter back in his life somewhere that he is 
confusing with present events. He seems to be worry- 
ing, too, about a certain drink he once overpowered a 
man into taking.” 

“May we see him?” asked Mr. Bruce earnestly. 

“I think it will do no harm if you do not stay long.” 
“Do you know me, Mr. O’Conner?” Mr. Bruce asked 
gently, stepping up to his bed. 

“Is it you, Bruce?” 

“Yes.” 

“I thought you were dead.” 

“No, I am very much alive and so glad that you are 
no worse than you are.” 


101 


102 


Burton Street Folks 


“But I tried to kill you once.” 

“You didn’t succeed. That is all in the past now, 
and it is not necessary to talk about it.” 

“I hurt your wife though cruelly.” 

“Yes, but she is well and sent you these,” placing a 
bunch of beautiful red roses in his hand. 

“How good they smell! Tell her I thank her. 

“And I took advantage of you once, Bruce, and made 
you drink.” 

“Never mind that either. I have never tasted a 
drop since.” 

“But what happened the other night? What made 
you do it? I have deliberately plotted against you and 
yours many times, and then you risked your life to 
save me. 

“O’Conner,” and Mr. Bruce spoke softly while his 
eyes shone with tender and beautiful light, “did you 
ever hear of the Nazarene who gave His life for His 
enemies ?” 

“Yes, yes, long ago. My mother prayed to Him, but 
I have almost forgotten.” 

“I have let Him into my life, O’Conner, that ex- 
plains all. He has now taken from me my craving for 
drink and also my hatred for you. Otherwise I should 
not have gone to the rescue.” 

“Is it possible, is it possible?” said the sick man 
meditatively, “but I am too far gone in sin myself to 
be helped, and may die of my injuries anyhow. But 
the poor fellows ! I never thought of it till I have been 
lying here on my back. Do all you can for them, Bruce ; 
they need you.” 

“You must talk no more now,” said Mr. Bruce, catch- 
ing the nurse’s warning glance. “It is all right; we are 
friends henceforth regardless of the past, and may God 
bless you.” 

Mr. Bruce had stepped from Mr. Connard’s carriage, 


Decision 


103 


but the latter did not order his driver on. He did not 
speak for two or three minutes, twirling his moustache 
meditatively, then he began suddenly: 

“That contract, Lawrence, I have been thinking about 
it. Do you wish it did not exist?” 

“For your sake, no, Richard; for the sake of these 
poor creatures, yes. My lifetime will be all too short for 
me to prove to you the gratitude I feel for all you have 
done for me. I have not scaled the heights; the man 
at the top put a rope around me and pulled me up. My 
first allegiance is to him.” 

“Oh, bother, Lawrence! and what’s the matter with 
your figure of speech? You usually speak more 
elegantly than that. Now for me that would be truly 
a classical expression, but not for you. What were 
you going to say about these poor people?” 

“They are on my heart day and night, and I find 
myself constantly planning how they might be benefited, 
Richard. See those two little girls down there in that 
filthy gutter now, because they have no better place to 
play. I’d like to fit up a playground for the children 
if I could. Their lives are so empty of joy.” 

“What a grand idea! Queer that no one has done 
something of the kind before, the need is so apparent. 
I’ve greatly enlarged the toy department only recently, 
you know. Give this money to those babies down there 
and tell them to get some candy. 

“Of course, you understand that it — I refer to the 
contract — is legal and binding, but, — well, you do seem 
to be the only one who knows how to meet the needs 
of these people, and the only one to whom they turn. 
I’ll not stand in your way, Lawrence. I scarcely see 
how I can get along without you — I won’t get along 
without you, now that’s settled,” bringing his first down 
for emphasis. “When you become superintendent of 
the mission, I’m going to have a hand in it too — do some 


104 


Burton Street Folks 


more of the rope-holding act, if you please. For some 
reason my life perspective is all becoming changed. 
Last evening I never once thought of that confounded 
club till eleven o’clock, and my presence presumably 
was indispensable too. I can’t say much, but just go 
ahead, my boy, and God bless you. I have ordered a 
new set of entries in the books to the account of the 
Lord. For the life of me I cannot see how so much 
good sense got into that small head of Dr. Dale’s. 
Systematic business principles ought, of course, to enter 
into one’s religion.” 

Mr. Bruce stood watching the carriage till it turned 
the corner, wondering what Mr. Connard may have 
meant. That afternoon he found out in part when the 
mail brought to him the contract with the signature torn 
off. 

Mrs. Gray was in an ecstacy of delight over Mr. 
Bruce’s report concerning O’Conner, and could scarcely 
wait till the next morning when she in company with Mr. 
Bruce might also see him. 

“He has steadily improved since you were here yes- 
terday,” said the nurse to Mr. Bruce. “Yes, it will be 
all right for you to see him again, but please do not 
stay long. Excitement or fatigue might bring up his 
fever.” 

O’Conner warmly clasped the hand of his rescuer, 
and then cast a half-startled, half-amused look toward 
Mrs. Gray. 

“How’d do, O’Conner,” she said sitting down by his 
bed, “I’m dreadful glad to see you here, I must say.” 

“Thanks, awfully!” 

“Yes, for now you have time to think. When we 
won’t let the Lord’s mercy turn us from our sins, He 
is very likely to allow trouble of some kind, though I 
know He don’t want to. It’s just the same as a mother 
punishin’ her naughty child. She’d lots rather love it 


Decision 105 

into doin’ right, but when it won’t let her, she ain’t dis- 
chargin’ her duty if she don’t punish it.” 

“I don’t believe the Lord or anybody else loves me, 
Mrs. Gray.” 

“Yes, He does. What you really mean is that you 
don’t love the Lord or anybody. It was sinners that 
God loved, or He’d never sent His Son to die. I guess 
you’re a sinner, ain’t you?” 

“I guess I am.” 

“Then God loves you; that’s settled. Now cornin’ 
down to human bein’s, I think it come mighty near 
bein’ love that made Mr. Bruce here risk his life to 
save you, don’t you?” 

“Y-e-s, I’ll take it back, Mrs. Gray, and I am sorry 
I was so mean to you about the mission.” 

“Well, if you’re sorry. I’m glad ; it’s a sign that God’s 
love is workin’ in your heart. Just let Him have His 
own way, O’Conner, and come back to the mission ag’in. 
I expect I was pretty hasty in orderin’ you out.” 

“Not a bit of it; I needed kicking out.” 

“O’Conner,” spoke Mr. Bruce, “I have what I trust 
you will consider good news. Last evening Dr. Dale 
and Mr. Connard came to see me, and arrangements 
were made whereby I shall take full charge of the 
mission. The new order of things will be informally 
opened a few nights hence, and I trust you will be able 
to attend. Come, if you are well enough.” 

“I will, Bruce, and thank you. Do you think there 
really is any hope for such a wretch as me?” he added 
wistfully. 

“As long as our Saviour is in heaven, O’Conner, and 
He has a follower on earth, there is hope for any man.” 

A moment of silence ensued, when O’Conner, smiling 
grimly through his bandages, spoke to Mrs. Gray: 

“I have learned from experience that there is no 
use to try to get ahead of you, and have decided at 


106 


Burton Street Folks 


last to hang but my flag of truce, — that is, if the devil 
doesn’t get into me as soon as I am out of here.” 

“What kind of flag is that? The Stars and Stripes is 
the only kind I know anything about; I generally have 
one in my Bible for a book mark.” 

“Well, then I mean if I can find honest work, I’ll 
take down my end of the sign and give yours a trial. 
I believe I’ll like it better.” 

“Oh, glory, glory, O’Conner! This is the very min- 
ute I’ve been prayin’ for ever since we begun runnin’ 
in competition.” 

The nurse thinking there was likely to be some ex^ 
citement, gave the signal and the guests departed, Mr. 
Bruce saying to the patient: 

“Come right to me, O’Conner, the day you are out 
of here, and we shall see what can be done. A part 
of my new work will be to try to find employment 
for those who are in earnest about wanting to lead clean, 
respectable lives.” 



CHAPTER XVI 
The Implacable Judge 

U NCLE Ben had been up since three o’clock in the 
morning running hither and thither executing the 
judge’s stern commands, for Mrs. Sommerville 
was lying very ill. 

It was yet early when the doctor arrived. During the 
examination of the patient the judge paced restlessly 
up and down the hall, casting occasional furtive glances 
through the open door, if, perchance, he might read 
favorable news in the countenance of the keen-eyed 
physician. 

"‘Oh, Mas’r Sommerville,” said Uncle Ben, meeting 
him at the head of the stairway, “fo’give me, fo’give 
me. It am 115 Burton street, oh, I said I wouldn’t 
tell.” 

“Silence, you nigger! Don’t you know that they 
never are to be mentioned under this roof?” 

The old darkey made no reply, but drew a trembling 
black hand across his eyes. 

In time Dr. Dale joined the judge, asking for a private 
interview. Descending the stately stairs, they entered 
the somber though elegant library, which contained 
many hundreds of volumes and also some rare paintings. 
The doctor was too well accustomed to luxury to pay 
107 



108 


Burton Street Folks 


any heed to his surroundings, but as he seated himself 
in a carved mahogany chair, his eye chanced to rest 
upon the picture of a beautiful child. Surprise and 
perplexity were mingled upon his face, but he did not 
speak. He arose, however, and crossed the room that 
he might the better study the portrait, his movement evi- 
dently greatly annoying the judge who exclaimed: 

“Doctor, this is no time to become entranced with 
pictures! Tell me what you think of my wife. Is 
she going to get well, or is she going to die?” 

“If you wish to know the true state of affairs, Judge 
Sommerville,” replied the doctor deliberately, and still 
scanning the portrait, “your wife cannot live. There 
is a mystery in the situation. She is dying literally of 
a broken heart, pleading constantly for her daughter, 
but is too ill to make any coherent explanation. If her 
mind were at rest, she might live a few hours longer, 
but I shall not be surprised if she goes tonight.” 

The judge listened without outward emotion, but his 
thin drawn face grew deathly white. Seeing that he 
was not going to speak, the doctor continued: 

“Pardon me if I ask if you have a daughter.” 

“I have.” 

“I did not know that. Is it possible for you to send 
for her?” 

“It is not possible,” came the answer, in a cold un- 
natural voice. 

“I do not wish to press the matter unduly, but is this 
your daughter’s portrait?” 

The judge looked at him quickly and searchingly and 
then answered: “It is my daughter.” 

“Is she dead?” 

“No, or rather, yes — dead to me.” 

“I am not questioning you through idle curiosity, but 
have two objects in view; I want if possible that the clos- 


109 


The Implacable Judge 

ing hours of my patient’s life shall be peaceful ones. From 
her disjointed utterances, your reticence, the street num- 
ber I overheard mentioned in the hall, and this charm- 
ing picture, certainly the bud of the full blown flower 
I have the honor of knowing, I suspect that you are 
estranged from your daughter. Putting all evidence 
together, I deduct the conclusion that I know her. If 
the woman I have in mind is your daughter, let me tell 
you, sir, that you have very just reason to be proud 
of her and her family. I know both her and her hus- 
band well, but am not acquainted with much of their 
history. I refer to Mr. and Mrs. Bruce — Lawrence and 
Marjorie Bruce.” 

The mystery at least so far as identity was concerned 
was elucidated, the doctor having no further need of 
questioning on that point. 

The old gentleman bowed his head upon his hands and 
groaned aloud, speaking over and over the name of his 
daughter which for years he had so strenuously avoided 
uttering. 

“Judge,” continued the doctor very kindly, sitting 
down in a chair by his side, “I do not ask you to unveil 
the past. It hurts me to have asked you so many 
leading questions, but I trust good may come of it. For 
more than two years your son-in-law has worked at 
Connard’s on a good salary, and is steadily advancing 
with every prospect of reaching the top. He has just 
left—” 

“Always Lawrence’s way! no dependence whatever 
in that fellow !” 

“I was about to say that he has left for a better 
position, better in some respects, more salary and an 
opportunity for doing a vast amount of good.” 

“Lawrence Bruce do good? Preposterous!” 

The doctor paid no heed to the sneer, but in detail 


110 


Burton Street Folks 


told the story of the mission, Mr. Bruce’s rescue, his 
power over the fallen, his heroism in saving the saloon- 
keeper’s life, and outlined their plans for the future. 

By degrees the judge’s face softened, till he evidenced 
real interest. His hungry heart drank in every word, 
but especially anything having to do with Marjorie or 
her boy. 

The judge’s personality defied analysis. He was a 
combination of passion, — usually controlled, supercilious- 
ness, tenderness and love, the former qualities having 
for so long predominated, that no one but his wife 
and Uncle Ben remembered that the latter existed. He 
was preeminently a shrewd, cold, hard-headed profes- 
sional man of the world, successful, if wealth, position, 
honor and power be a criterion, but to himself he was 
forced to admit, scornfully to be sure, that “failure” 
would be the only appropriate inscription for his tomb. 
From the day that he had preemptorily ordered from 
his home his daughter and her husband till this present 
morning, no one had broken through the icy barrier 
of his repellent dignity. 

Dr. Dale was keen himself with too broad a knowl- 
edge of human nature to think that the external in the 
judge represented more than a part of the real man. 
Because of this and a genuine love he had for the 
Bruces, he laid aside his innate sense of refinement and 
delicacy long enough to storm the fort of the judge’s 
iron will, using for weapons very direct and personal 
questions. 

Not wishing to lose an iota of the vantage ground 
already gained by prolonging conversation, the doctor 
arose to leave, saying: 

“I am going to see Mr. Bruce this morning to com- 
plete a few more of our business arrangements, and 
shall be happy to. deliver any message you may wish 
to send to him or to Mrs. Bruce.” 


Ill 


The Implacable Judge 

The judge for a moment did not speak, his hand 
clutching convulsively the arm of his chair, while his 
superb diamond scintillated beautifully in the sunlight. 
At last, catching his breath laboriously between words, 
he said: 

“If it will prolong Mrs. Sommerville’s life, tell Mar- 
jorie to come. ,, 

“Only Marjorie ?” 

“And her son.” 

“No one else?” 

“No!” 

“Then I am sorry to tell you that Mrs. Sommerville 
must die with her wish ungratified. Mrs. Bruce, as 
much as I know her sensitive heart must be longing 
for her mother, will not come without her husband. She 
is too loyal a wife for that. Good morning, Judge. I 
shall call again this evening, unless in the meantime 
I receive word that my patient is gone.” 

The doctor was immensely disappointed over the 
result of his interview. The attitude of the father was 
disgusting and at the same time pitiable. Mental suffer- 
ing was depicted in his every look and motion, but 
evidently he preferred the nursing of his pride and real 
or imaginary wrongs to the life of his faithful and 
devoted wife. Had the daughter been sent for months 
before, or better still, never disinherited, the mother 
might now be a well and happy woman. The more he 
thought of it the more indignant did he become. He 
felt that it would be practically impossible for him to 
meet Mr. Bruce according to appointment without his 
perturbation revealing more than was best. Conse- 
quently he sent a message canceling the engagement till 
the early evening, and saying that Dr. Fairfax would 
conduct the mission meeting. 

The twilight was falling when Dr. Dale entered the 
Bruce apartments. Painfully plain indeed were the 


112 


Burton Street Folks 


furnishings compared to his own, but the touch of Mar- 
jorie’s artistic fingers was everywhere apparent, leaving 
nothing which might grate upon a nature, even though 
as aesthetic as the little doctor’s. He looked upon the 
home scene with mingled emotions, feeling sure if only 
that pertinacious father were there, he would surrender 
unconditionally. Marjorie was sitting by the piano, with 
Lawrence at her side, where she had been trying some 
new music, and was looking really girlish in her simple 
white dress. The piano was a present from “Uncle” 
Richard to William. 

Billy, as happy as a boy could be, with a book in hand, 
was lost in an adventurous but wholesome tale. 

Mr. Bruce had just finished telling that they were 
about to rent a pretty little house out a few miles on a 
direct car line, with a lawn and trees and flowers all 
about it, when some one appeared at the door. 

“De Lawd be praised, honey, de Lawd be praised!” 
and before they had time to recover from their aston- 
ishment, Uncle Ben had Marjorie by the hand. 

“Oh, come quick, come quick,” he said in a choking 
voice, “fo’ der ain’t no time to lose.” 

“Uncle Ben,” entreated Marjorie, “do tell me why 
you are here. Did — oh, has my father sent for me?” 

“He sure has, honey, but do come quick, fo’ she’s 
dyin’!” 

“Who is dying? — not my mother.” 

“Yes, and de Lawd help yo\ Mas’r Sommerville am 
’most crazy. And you come too, Mas’r Lawrence,” read- 
ing the question on his face, “fo’ he sent fo’ you and 
de boy. And come along wid you right away, I say, 
der ain’t no time to lose. De carriage am waitin’.” 

As in a dream Marjorie made a few hasty prepara- 
tions, the doctor improving the opportunity to explain 
to Lawrence a little more of the situation. Having in- 
tended to call at the Sommervilles as soon as he should 


The Implacable Judge 


113 


leave the Bruces, the doctor accepted Lawrence’s invi- 
tation to accompany them. They rode in silence, save 
for Uncle Ben’s nervous and frequent ejaculations, each 
wrapped in deep and conflicting thought. 

The judge evidently had impatiently been awaiting 
their arrival, for he heard their approach and himself 
opened the door. Neither Marjorie nor Lawrence took 
the initiative, for they were not quite certain as to the 
degree of their welcome. The judge betrayed the sur- 
prise he felt in their appearance. Notwithstanding his 
conversation with the doctor, he persisted in thinking 
that they must of course bear the stamp of the slums. 
He scanned them closely, seemingly at a loss how to 
proceed, and the doctor began to fear for the outcome. 

Billy comprehended something of the situation. He 
recognized the judge, and he it was who broke the 
silence. Slipping up to the old gentleman’s side, and 
looking him in the face, he said : 

“Grandpa, I thank you for letting me off when I stole 
the bread, and I’ve never stolen anything since.” 

The effect was magical. The judge clasped him in his 
arms, saying, “My grandson,” and then turning to the 
others, “My daughter and my son!” 

The doctor feeling that the moment was too sacred 
for the presence of a stranger, silently stole upstairs to 
the chamber of his patient. He found her almost gone, 
but rational. Would the shock of meeting her daughter 
be more than she could bear? He anticipated that it 
might, but he could not endure the thought! of her enter- 
ing the mysterious realm of the dead without first behold- 
ing the face, the absence of which had brought her to this 
hour. What was done must be done quickly. He 
descended to the hall in time to see the judge kiss the 
upturned face of Marjorie, and to place a hand warmly 
upon Lawrence’s shoulder. 

“Mrs. Bruce,” said the doctor, “be very brave for her 


114 Burton Street Folks 

sake, but your mother cannot live an hour. Come at 
once.” 

The little party entered the room, Marjorie alone ap- 
proaching the bed and remarkably self-possessed. 

. “My mother, I have come !” 

“My daughter, my Marjorie ! I can now go in peace.” 

The dying woman feasted her eyes upon the lovely 
form bending over her, then closed them for the last on 
this earth, a heavenly smile relieving the lines of anguish 
upon her marble face. 

The next few days passed by as such days always 
do, with the stricken family feeling that they were 
called upon to do and to bear the impossible. 

It was the evening after the funeral and Lawrence 
was restless. He could not tell whether Marjorie’s 
father expected them to remain or not, and for this rea- 
son could formulate no plans. He was reclining rather 
listlessly upon a couch, when Uncle Ben summoned him 
to the judge’s presence in the library. The altered ap- 
pearance of the judge was most apparent. The old, 
hard expression was gone, sadness, love and almost de- 
pendence being in the ascendency. 

“My son,” he said, “sit down here by my side. Dr. 
Dale has told me all he knows of your story, and I 
am proud of you — proud of my heroic son. If you can 
forget the cruel past, I will do all I can to make amends, 
though that is not much. I had willed all my property 
away to various public institutions, but destroyed the 
writings just before you came in. Should I follow my 
dear wife even this very night, all I have would belong 
to Marjorie. I am alone in the world now, Lawrence, 
save for you and your family, and am unworthy, I 
know, of the favor I am about to ask. Make this your 
future home. It will kill me, if you refuse. I shall 
not interfere with your plans in connection with the 
mission, providing William is reared in the proper atmos- 


115 


The Implacable Judge 

phere. Keep him away from his former environments 
whether you accede to my wishes or not. This is only 
about a thirty-minute car ride from Burton street, and 
my carriages shall ever be at your command. After 
my death, if you wish to move elsewhere, of course, do 
it. But now I cannot be separated from Marjorie. Tell 
me what you will do.” 

A tumult was raging in Lawrence's breast. Could he 
ever feel entirely easy in the judge’s presence? He 
doubted it. But then Marjorie was the only child, so 
was not her duty with her father? He was not at all 
sure on that point, for had not the father forfeited all 
claim on her? Then there was Billy. His highest 
good after all was the one thing to be considered. 
Would the imperious grandfather be in any way a 
hindrance to him? What should he answer? The 
moment was crucial. The grandfather was altered, that 
was evident, in fact his implacability seemed entirely 
gone. Would it last, or was it only temporary? Was 
it now, honestly, Lawrence asked himself sharply, Mar- 
jorie and Billy for whom he was concerned, or him- 
self? Now that he began analyzing his own feelings 
microscopically, was not the real stumbling-block the 
thought of sharing their love with another? He was 
forced to admit that it was, and also that the past was 
still rankling in his soul. He was surprised and dis- 
gusted. He a Christian, superintendent-elect of an 
important mission, harboring an unforgiving spirit to- 
ward this heart-crushed old man, and too selfish to 
share with him the love of wife and child! Monstrous! 
He seemed to hear Richard’s voice saying, “The hero’s 
part, my boy,” but was it the hero’s part he was called 
upon to choose, or only the part of a dutiful son? It 
was settled. He would not look upon it as a sacrifice. 

His voice betrayed nothing of the inward struggle as 
he said: 


116 


Burton Street Folks 


“Father, the favor is all on my side. Gladly do I 
make this my home, and how I thank you for lifting 
from my beloved Marjorie the one remaining cloud on 
her life. I hope that in my son, your namesake, you 
will find some reparation for the great wrong I did you 
in taking from you your daughter, and that your de- 
clining years shall know nothing but peace and hap- 
piness.” 

The judge would have wept, had not his fountain of 
tears gone dry long ago. As it was he only said : “God 
bless you, my son.” 



CHAPTER XVII 

“Three Cheers for the Other End of the Sign!” 

T HERE was a flutter akin to excitement in the Bur- 
ton street Hope Mission, for the evening had ar- 
rived when its future policy should be announced 
and a permanent superintendent installed. 

That afternoon Mrs. Gray had arranged and re- 
arranged the palms and cut flowers at least a dozen 
times before the effect was to her liking, and straightened 
the mottoes and wielded the broom and dust cloth till 
she was genuinely tired. 

She had returned early for the service to make a final 
inspection, and was now talking with Mr. Bruce during 
the arrival of the people. 

“Fm awful glad,” she said, “that you’ve got at last 
where you belong, and that it ain’t turnin’ your head 
away from us folks here on Burton street and the work 
the Lord called you to.' I thought the jedge seemed 
mighty interested-like in Billy the time he was up for 
takin’ the bread, and now it’s all explained.” 

Mr. Bruce noticed that the mentioning of Billy’s name 
caused a tremor of the speaker’s lips and a mist to fill 
her eyes. His heart was touched. 

“Mrs. Gray,” he said kindly, “remember what I told 
you, that our home is to be your home whenever you 
117 


118 


Burton Street Folks 


wish to come, and in the meantime you will be a wel- 
come and, I trust, frequent guest. ,, 

This sent the tears coursing down her cheeks in rapid 
succession. 

“But he won’t want me.” 

“Yes, he will.” 

“No, he won’t.” 

“Why?” 

“I sassed him.” 

With difficulty Mr. Bruce suppressed a smile and then 
continued : 

“But the judge does want you. He remembers you 
well, and asked me to say to you that he wishes to be 
honored by sheltering under his roof his grandson’s 
first friend.” 

“Do tell r 

“Yes, and Billy is already homesick to see you. To- 
morrow afternoon a carriage will be sent to take you 
out to dinner. This special invitation is primarily from 
Billy, but closely seconded by his grandfather who now 
recognizes no household law but the laddie’s will.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Bruce,” wiping her eyes, “but, 
say, ain’t Billy and his ma goin’ to be here tonight?” 

“No, they are not. You see the judge has only very 
recently passed through a deep trial, and the doctor says 
it will require the utmost precaution to prevent a 
nervous collapse. As much as Mrs. Bruce would like 
to be present, she feels that right now her duty is at 
home. We have noted some improvement in her father 
today, so we are hopeful.” 

“Oh, glory for all and everything!” she said softly, 
as Mr. Bruce left to take his seat on the platform. 

The room was full now, and with much interest he 
surveyed his audience. There were many present with 
bloated and sin-stained faces, some of them without 
doubt hopeless cases, but the victories of the past gave 


‘‘Three Cheers” 119 

courage for the future. O’Conner with bandaged head 
was there, and had whispered as Mr. Bruce passed by: 

“Mr. Connard sent word not to bother you about find- 
ing me work, for he needs another deliveryman just as 
soon as I am well.” 

The service was simple and informal. After the first 
hearty songs Dr. Fairfax made a prayer, setting Law- 
rence Bruce apart to the sacred work to which he had 
been called, and Richard wondered what made the tears 
trickle down his own cheeks. 

Then Dr. Dale explained that the mission room would 
be open by day as well as by night henceforth, and that 
all who wanted help on any line should call. When 
Mr. Bruce was not present an able assistant would be. 
Special provision had been made with a number of busi- 
ness men by a “friend” whose name must be withheld, 
whereby at least temporary employment could be fur- 
nished to a comparatively large number. Club rooms 
would be opened as soon as possible, a playground for 
the children laid out and a Sunday-school organized. 

What he considered the best news of all he had kept 
for the last. The next door saloon had been rented and 
a reading room would be opened in the near future. 

“Glory to God!” exclaimed Mrs. Gray. 

In the hush of surprise which followed this announce- 
ment, O’Conner arose. 

“I can’t talk much,” he said, “and it ain’t necessary. 
You fellows all know there is a change in me, or I’d 
never have allowed this, and my end of the sign is down 
forever. All in line now, boys, and three cheers for 
the other end !” 

The uproar was deafening, and probably shocking to 
any who did not understand the circumstances, but from 
the hearts of the leaders ascended fervent praise to God 
for this great victory and all it should mean. 

Several testimonies to God’s goodness and faithfulness 


120 


Burton Street Folks 


followed, mostly from converts of the mission, and 
the bells of heaven were all set a-ringing for very joy. 

With a fervor not often equaled, the beautiful hymn 
was sung while angels paused to listen : 

God is love, His mercy brightens 
All the path by which we rove; 

Bliss He wakes and woe He lightens, 

God is wisdom, God is love! 

Time and change are busy ever; 

Man decays and ages move; 

But His mercy waneth never; 

God is wisdom, God is love! 

E’en the hour that darkest seemeth 
Will His changeless goodness prove; 

From the gloom His brightness streameth, 

God is wisdom, God is love! 

He with earthly cares entwineth 
Hope and comfort from above ; 

Everywhere His glory shineth; 

God is wisdom, God is love! 


AFTERWORD TO “ROSA’S QUEST” 


Readers of “Burton Street Folks” will naturally 
be interested in the author’s earlier and deservedly 
popular story entitled, “Rosa’s Quest.” It is 
offered at the same price as this volume — 15 cents, 
in paper covers ; 35 cents, in cloth covers. 

Miss Wright’s “Afterword” to “Rosa’s Quest” 
is as follows: 


One bitterly cold December day, while riding in a 
street car in a large city, a frail-looking little girl, bend- 
ing beneath the weight of a huge package, entered the 
car, sitting directly in front of me. She was thinly, 
though neatly, clad. Her pale face was overshadowed 
by an expression of care far too old for her baby 
shoulders, while her eyes were large, dark, and pathet- 
ically wistful. 

There was something irresistible about her whole ap- 
pearance, impelling me to cross the aisle and sit down 
by her side. 

She told me that her name was Rosa, and the conver- 
sation which followed, suggested the story, “Rosa’s 
Quest.” 

I asked her if she knew anything about Jesus. To 
this she replied: 

“Not much, ma’am, but it seems like I’ve heard just 
a little.” 

Of heaven and the way of salvation she was as ignor- 
ant as a child in the wilds of Africa. The sad expres- 
121 


122 


Afterword to “Rosa’s Quest’ 


sion of her face did not alter till I quoted John 3:16, 
then looking up with a smile, she said: 

“Ain’t that pretty?’' 

For some time we talked, her hungry soul eagerly 
drinking in the old, old story, but to her so new. 

Suddenly she left the car, and with a sense of deep 
depression, I saw her disappear amid a great, seething 
mass of humanity. 

If she has not succumbed to the hardships of poverty, 
she probably is still toiling on in that proud “Christian” 
city, and has any one taught her more of Jesus than 
she knew that day? 

Who will be responsible for these lost souls, constantly 
coming into contact with those who profess to know the 
Lord? 

Why is it that so many Christians view life from an 
inverted standpoint, attaching apparently vastly more 
importance to the few brief years spent upon this earth, 
than to the countless cycles of eternity? Why not view 
it normally, making our one business that of serving that 
blessed Christ? 

Surely the saddest word in a Christian’s vocabulary is 
indifference. By and by many a one would doubtless 
gladly forfeit ten thousand years of heavenly bliss just 
to recall the wasted opportunities of this day. 

It is an incomparable privilege to be a child of the 
King, and the only way in which one may prove his 
appreciation and loyalty is by the degree of consecration 
and quality of service rendered. 

At the day of Christ’s appearing there will be many 
an unrewarded Christian, saved eternally by the precious 
blood of God’s sacrificial Lamb, but with no glitter- 
ing starry crown to cast at those once-pierced and bleed- 
ing feet! 


Afterword to “Rosa’s Quest” 


123 


If the reading of this little story draws any nearer to 
the Lord, influencing them to become more diligent in 
their search for the lost, it shall accomplish that where- 
unto it is prayerfully sent. 


Sterling Books for Christian Workers and Others 

By Rev. James M. Gray, D. D. 

HOW TO MASTER THE ENGLISH BIBLE, i6mo, cloth, 40c net. 
GREAT EPOCHS OF SACRED HISTORY, i6mo, paper, 15c; cloth, 
50c net. 

SALVATION FROM START TO FINISH, 16mo, paper, 15c net; cloth, 
50c net. 

SATAN AND THE SAINT, lGmo, paper, 15c; cloth, 50c net. 

By Rev. R. A. Torrey, D. D. 

STUDIES IN THE LIFE AND TEACHINGS OF OUR LORD, 8vo, cloth, 
$1.50 net. 

By Rev. William Evans, D. D. 

THE CHRISTIAN; HIS CREED AND CONDUCT, i2mo, paper, 25c net, 
cloth, 50c net. 

THE BOOK OF BOOKS— WHAT IT IS; HOW TO STUDY IT, i2mo, 

cloth, $1.00. 

HOW TO MEMORIZE, 12uio, cloth, 50c net. 

PERSONAL SOUL-WINNING, 12mo, cloth, $1.00 net. 

HOW TO PREPARE SERMONS AND GOSPEL ADDRESSES, i2mo, 

cloth, $1.00 net; postage extra 8c. 

THE GREAT DOCTRINES OF THE BIBLE, 8vo, cloth, $1.50 net; 

postage extra 15c. 

OUTLINE STUDY OF THE BIBLE With Illustrative Charts. 12mo, 
115 pages, cloth, 50c net; postage extra 6c. 

By Rev. A. C. Dixon, D. D. 

THE CHRISTIAN SCIENCE DELUSION, Art Stock Covers, 10c. 
PRESENT-DAY LIFE AND RELIGION, 16mo, paper, 15c; cloth, 50c net. 
By Rev. (Bishop) W. R. Nicholson, D. D. 

ONENESS WITH CHRIST. Edited by Rev. James M. Gray, D. D. 12mo, 
cloth, with Frontispiece of Author, $1.00 net. 

By Rev. Alexander Patterson. 

BIRD’S-EYE BIBLE STUDY, 16mo, paper 15c, or 8 for $1.00; cloth, 30c 
net. 

THE OTHER SIDE OF EVOLUTION: AN EXAMINATION OF ITS 
EVIDENCES, 16mo, cloth, 60c net. 

By H. B. Gibbud. 

“UNDER THE BLUE CANOPY OF HEAVEN:” The Open Air Work- 
ers’ Hand Book. 16mo, cloth, 50c net. 

By Rev. Perry Wayland Sinks, S. T. D. 

IN THE REFINER’S FIRE: OR THE PROBLEM OF HUMAN SUFFER- 
ING, 12mo, cloth, 50c net. 

By Rev. O. R. Palmer. 

DELIVERANCE FROM THE PENALTY AND POWER OF SIN, i6mo, 

paper, 15c or 8 for $1.00; cloth, 30c net. 

By Rev. Edward A. Marshall. 

CHRISTIANITY AND NON - CHRISTIAN RELIGIONS COMPARED, 

12mo, cloth, 50c net. 

By James H. Brookes, D. D. 

ISRAEL AND THE CHURCH , 12mo, paper, 40c; cloth, 75c. 

By Rev. Samuel J. Andrews. 

CHRISTIANITY AND ANTI-CHRISTIANITY IN THEIR FINAL CON- 
FLICT, 8vo, cloth, $1.50 net. 

By Rev. Chas. A. Blanchard, D. D. 

LIGHT ON THE LAST DAYS, Being Familiar Studies in the Book of 
Revelation. 12mo, paper, 25c net; cloth, 75c net. 


THE BIBLE INSTITUTE COLPORTAGE ASSOCIATION 

Send for a complete catalogue. 826 La Salle Avenue, Chicago. 























‘ 



























































































































































. 








































. 
































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































» 





















































OCT 20 1S13 

































































